


love me insane

by holy_smokes



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Diego & Klaus are in LOVE, Dysfunctional Family, Explicit Sexual Content, Five is a bratty sassy angel, Fluff, Fostering/Adoption, Gen, Light D/s sexual situations, M/M, Mentions of addiction, POV Alternating, Protective Diego Hargreeves, Recovery, Sober Klaus Hargreeves, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-11-12 01:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18001007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holy_smokes/pseuds/holy_smokes
Summary: Diego & Klaus live a happy, quiet life. Diego catches bad guys and Klaus paints pictures. It's just that when they decide to foster, they didn't count on finding a kid like Five, 'The Boy'. But Five didn't really count on finding them, either.





	1. Susie Won't Get Off My Goddamn Back

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU, so there shouldn't be show spoilers. It's really just an excuse to write Kliego softness/occasional porn, mixed in with an excuse to write Five being the sassy little baby we all know and love. Comments and kudos give me motivation to continue and I'm writing this as I go, so... please give my Leo heart the validation it needs. LOL. The fact you guys left me kudos and such awesome comments on my little drabble gave me the inspiration I needed to think about a longer, chaptered fic, so thank you so much. 
> 
> There'll be fluff, light angst, Kliego porn, Klaus/Five bonding, and god only knows what else, we'll see how we go! It will alternative between the three character's POVs.
> 
> I'll try and update every 2/3 days.

 

OMNE  TRIUM  PERFECTUM

_"Everything that comes in threes is perfect, or, every set of three is complete"._

  


Suburbia isn't as lifeless as the movies make out, Diego reflects. There's nothing wrong with wanting a quiet life, a cosy home and not much else. Their early twenties were messy, two lost souls who were strangers to each other; Klaus lost at the bottom of a bottle of gin and Diego with bruised knuckles and a bad attitude. He had a temper back then and he wasn't afraid to use it. It wasn't until 1st August 2014, 6.38pm, until it all changed.

He knows because he kept the receipt.

He bought a coffee - full fat, three sugars - before stomping out and some fuckin' _idiot_ swirled into him, knocking it out of his hands.

"For fuck's _sake_!" he had raged, dumbstruck by the coffee all over his shoes, ready to scream at the dude in a fucking glittery cape who caused said catastrophe, but the scream wouldn't leave his mouth once he looked at the tearful, pretty face of the man stood in front of him.

"Oh dear," the man had sniffled, laughing wildly, perhaps nervous - Diego didn't blame him - "I'm so sorry, sir, - "

"Ugh, it's fine," Diego bitched, his entire body resisting the urge to be an asshole, which was new, "are you - ok?"

Well, Klaus wasn't. Diego took him and the receipt home. Five years later, he still has both.

They fit into each other's lives perfectly, although they both know Klaus didn't have much of a life back then. Diego had never fell in love, but he fell hard, embarrassingly quick, gorging himself on Klaus as if he was forbidden food. He thought it'd burn out, _no love like this can last_ , but it never did. Love came with conditions, because despite what they say, it has to -- and Klaus put every effort he could conjure in that delicate body of his into rejecting the pills, powder and the booze. Diego's days weren't quite as long back when he was an officer rather than detective, and he could split shifts, taking Klaus to therapy, sitting by his side proudly. Klaus would bemoan how useless he was in comparison to his partner, before proving himself wrong, because Diego couldn't suck his own dick. Yeah, they had those dirty nights, Klaus happy to dress like a whore and show his _gratefulness_ to Diego. Diego may have given him a home, but Klaus gave Diego a purpose. It was an even playing field. It still is.

Diego never pushed Klaus to be something, to do something, but he did inquire about his boyfriend's passions and talents. Klaus always laughed, _"apart from sucking cock, you mean?_ " was his standard deflective response, until a year ago, when he came home with blank canvasses and buckets of paint. It started off small, amusing, until Klaus enrolled in a course at the community college downtown.

He's still on that course, the slow ass bitch, but Diego doesn't _care_. He likes Klaus being at home when he gets home. He likes sitting down at his desk to type up dull as fuck reports knowing his baby is curled up, watching Keeping Up with The Kardashians whilst idly doodling.

Klaus is sober and Diego's knuckles haven't been split for years. Diego's pretty proud of them both.

Perhaps it should have surprised him when Klaus looked at him thoughtfully all those months ago, chewing down the broccoli Diego forces him to eat on a regular basis.

"You ever think about fostering?" Klaus had asked, creeping to the topic. 

"No," Diego admitted, shovelling his food in, "why, you want a kid?"

Klaus shrugged, attempted to flick the vegetable onto the floor and pretend due to floor-contamination he couldn't possibly eat it (as if Diego hasn't seen him fail at flipping a sticky, sugary pancake yet _still_ eat it off the floor a hundred times).

"Fostering, though," Klaus continued, sagging in defeat as Diego had leant over and stuck his own fork in the broccoli, waving it at Klaus's lips, "it's like a trial run. And those kinda kids, they need a home. Which we have."

He opened his mouth obediently, chewed the vegetable with great effort.

"Yeah," Diego had smiled, "I mean, we could, yeah. I like kids."

He just didn't really expect it would ever happen. Klaus is flighty, unsure, uneasy to pin to something and Diego's a live-in-the-moment kind of guy. It was Klaus who followed through. Klaus filled in the applications with a dedication Diego had never seen before. He'd seen his lover get bored making a cup of tea, giving up half way through, and yet days turned into months of applying, telephone calls, reports, meetings. Diego attended them too, of course, but only because Klaus organised them. Their home was visited, assessed, social workers galore, paperwork scattered everywhere from Klaus' usual spot on the couch to their bedside table.

"Shit, you really want this, huh?" Diego asked one night. Klaus had looked at him a little fearful.

"You don't?"

"No, I do, I do," Diego reassured him, "I just didn't realise it was so important to you."

Klaus moved from his shoulder to lying across his lap, one of their favourite ways to chill, with Diego stroking his hair, another arm across Klaus's chest.

"I just - " Klaus stopped, laughing, "I just love you. So much."

Diego felt his blood run hot, making his ears tingle, unable to not smile.

"I love you too. So much."

"We're a family," Klaus continued, "we have a home. We could help a kid. A lost little kid. I know we'll be good at it. I think that's kind of beautiful."

Diego hummed quietly, still smiling, because whenever Klaus is in his eye-line he can't control his mouth.

"Yeah, it is."

 

 

They were cleared six days ago. Six days it took Social Services before they chucked a child at them. It was Klaus's adorable little project, in Diego's mind, until Susie rang Klaus, leaving him hopping and excited.

"We're gonna have a kid here," Klaus screeches, "fuck, I need my pink jumper. Where's my pink jumper?!"

"Why?" Diego laughs, nerves bubbling in his stomach despite himself.

"I want to make a good impression," Klaus points out, as if Diego is particularly stupid, "help me, baby. Come on."

Diego finds the pink jumper (it had been pulled off and used to tie Klaus's hands behind his back when Klaus started being bratty halfway through _The Handmaid's Tale_ ). They pace their kitchen, both lost in the daydream of what's coming. Diego watches adoringly as Klaus bounces on the ball of his feet, awaiting Susie's knock.

 

_KNOCK!_

 

**

 

 _Decent enough_ , Five summarises, climbing out of the insufferable Susie's Mercedes. Semi-detached in a boring town was better than an inner city slum. Susie smiles at him excitedly.

"Now, Five," she says slowly, making Five clench his fists in irritation, "let's try and get along with these two, hmm? They're new to fostering and they're the _sweetest_. You could do much worse," she adds on the end. Five suppresses the urge to scoff. He's glad he annoys her as much as she annoys him, at least.

The front door opens, revealing a tall man who looks like he's just been electrocuted and another with a little more of a normal expression stood behind him.

"Ah, great," Susie laughs, handing off Five's enormous binder, "here you are, guys. I told you most of it on the phone, remember, Klaus? Just give me a call if you have any questions! Five, off you go," she encourages, watching him watch her.

"Five?" the less excitable man asks, puzzled.

"Ah," Susie laughs, out of breath, "yes, Five, tell them about your name! Always a funny talking point," she grins.

Five smiles sadistically at her.

"My parents died in a terrorist attack," he informs the two bewildered men in front of him, "they headed a think-tank against right wing extremism and right wing extremists burnt them alive. I chose to let my birth name die with them. The number five symbolises balance. I think of myself as a very balanced individual."

He steps in, the two men parting warily to allow it, before shutting the door in Susie's face.

"So, a cup of coffee wouldn't go amiss," he informs them. The man in a ridiculous pink jumper looks like he might be sick, whereas the other one is barely concealing his amusement.

"Ok, 'Five'," amused man says slowly, "I'm Diego, this is Klaus. Welcome."

"Sure," Five shrugs, "and, the coffee?"

"Of course, coffee," Klaus grins, snapping out of it, "we can do coffee, right, sweetheart?"

"For a child?" Diego smiles back at him.

"I'm not a child," Five snaps, "I mean, technically, yes. I am legally a child. However, surely you've had my paperwork. I operate at much more advanced level than 'child'."

"Yeah, I didn't really... read it?" Klaus shrugs, whilst Diego looks guilty, confirming to Five he didn't either. 

Five doesn't care. It's better that way, anyway. 

"Look, I'm perfectly capable of running my own life," Five tells them, "I just, in the eyes of the law, need so-called adults to house me until I'm deemed old enough. I'm home schooled. I have a virtual classroom. I simply need a place to sleep and since Susie won't get off my goddamn back, here I am."

His two new hosts blink at him dumbly.

"I assume there's a bedroom up here," he nods, backpack heavy on his back before he ignores their stares and continues upwards. It's a bright and airy home, Five supposes, locating what looks like a neutral bedroom and therefore his as opposed to the bedroom of a married couple. There's no point getting too comfortable. He's never around for that long.

 

**

 

Klaus holds his face up to the steamy mirror. It's still strange to him to see clarity in his eyes rather than pinpricked pupils, but he's grateful for his sobriety every single time he's reminded of it. Slipping into a dressing gown from their bathroom he finds Diego propped up by pillows, scrawling through his phone.

"Thought you said social media after 9.00pm kills brain cells," Klaus reminds him haughtily before climbing under the duvet. 

"I can afford to lose a few brain cells, I'm just that smart," Diego jokes, Klaus kissing the last bit of the sentence out of him, pulling him in tightly. He has to spread his legs to feel Diego fully, to feel his body pressed against him, skin to skin, and he sighs in pleasure as his very own officer of the law grips his thighs greedily.

"Well, at least we found our little weirdo," Klaus quips as Diego nips at his neck, "definitely had to give us the kid with a number for a name, didn't they?"

"Mm," Diego agrees, and Klaus knows he isn't actually listening. He begins to switch off too as Diego's hands span over his hips, one going for his waist as another starts to grip his hardening dick.

"Yes," Klaus gasps, "ah, just, get a little - "

He doesn't need to finish what he wants to say because Diego's moving up and fast, grabbing a bottle of lube they keep tucked in a drawer nearby, before wetting his hands and - _thank God_ \- gripping Klaus's dick, Klaus thrusting eagerly into the tight, wet fist.

"Perfect," Klaus moans, gripping onto Diego's broad shoulders as his lover jacks his cock leisurely, lovingly, peppering him with kisses, just as Klaus likes it. They move together, Klaus clumsily reaching for Diego, happy to find him perked up and just as ready.

"Diego," he stutters, lost in the rhythm as Diego moves in-between his legs, hand travelling from his waist to Klaus's slim neck. Klaus is weak for it, weak for the way Diego's strong hands can be so brutal, surrendering himself to those talented, rough fingers that know just how to squeeze and claim. It's different to how it used to be, men he didn't know throttling him so hard he felt their choke hold for weeks after, and for that he says his prayers every night. Diego's hands are anchors, keeping Klaus safe and grounded, rather than weapons he uses to make himself feel powerful. 

"Ah, please - just - right there - oh," Klaus moans, a little too loud as he briefly remembers their new addition, deciding to force Diego into a rough, wet kiss to conceal his noisy mouth. Diego's sloppy and fast and Klaus is ever so close, so very close, just - _there_ \- he cries out, quieter, coming into his lover's fist, gasping as his body goes limp, grinning like an idiot as he enjoys the waves of his orgasm. 

"Oi," Diego reminds him, still red and sweaty, "you're not finished."

"Oh yeah," Klaus bites his lip, before rearranging them, Diego allowing it, "enjoy the view, handsome," he winks, before sinking down to take Diego's cock in his mouth. He loves this, always has, but it's better when you truly care about the orgasm you're giving someone. Diego likes to lead and Klaus likes to be led, but when it comes to sucking cock, their roles reverse. Klaus has been known to cock-tease like the best of them, until Diego flips out and loses his patience - that's how Klaus likes it best  - but it's late, and he's already come. He hollows tightly, lets the cock in his mouth snag the back of his throat and fuck his face, because Klaus can take it. It's when the body beneath him tenses, stuttering, high pitched, Klaus knows it's all over, tasting spurts of hot, salty jizz as his Diego empties himself in his mouth.

"Ah, shit," Diego whispers, chest heaving, "I never get bored of that."

"What kind of freak gets bored of blowjobs?" Klaus whispers back, offended.

Diego laughs. It's Klaus's most beloved sound in the entire world.

"C'mhere," Diego mutters, pulling him in for a playful kiss, before their dreams claim them.

 

 

Five, for the most part, is right. He is no bother. Yet that's _exactly_ what bothers Klaus.

The creepily silent, hidden teenager they've brought into their home taps away on his Mac all day, barely bothering to leave the room except for coffee. Klaus knows he should put a stop to it, because a highly caffeinated teenager can't be healthy, but he can't bring himself to be authoritative. That, and the fact when he told Five to lay off it, the little bastard took the kettle into his bedroom.

Yeah, Five _knows_ he's the alpha when it's just him and Klaus at home, Klaus grimaces. He's just not great at stamping his foot down, unlike Diego. It's always been easier to give in, because dominance struggles are so primitive, and Klaus considers himself heights above such outdated concepts. 

Still. It does dent his pride a _tad_ to be so easily squished under the foot of a thirteen year old.

"Five?"

A week into their new arrangement, Klaus is bored of feeling like he's trying to catch butterflies in the wild. He knows the kid hates any interest being shown in him. Diego's happy enough, though, as Five is clean, quiet and he eats his vegetables like a maniac. Klaus has never seen such chaotic behaviour in a child. The kid actively requests vegetables for dinner and slices them up with the precision of a serial killer, eating in silence as Diego watches over like a proud father. Klaus tried to take the piss one night, mocking Five's nerdy vegetable love-in, only for both of them to shoot him down with disappointed glares. 

Klaus knocks on the bedroom door, just to be sure, before opening it tentatively.

"What you up to, huh?"

Five meets his eyes but doesn't stop typing, like a witch.

"I'm in class."

"Oh, sure," Klaus tries to be cool, "or... we could go out? Go for a walk?"

Five is still touch-typing. Klaus has never felt more incompetent in his life.

"A walk?"

"Yeah. Fresh air!" Klaus exclaims, because Five's expression is as if Klaus suggested they eat dog shit.

"Hm," the kid sighs, "yes, I should take a break I suppose," slapping his laptop shut. Klaus wasn't quite expecting it to work but the lost little soul of his daydreams is finally willing to spend some time with him, so he's not going to waste it. The winding road that takes them around their small estate is usually a nice, quiet stroll, even if Five walks along like a Grandpa, hands shoved in his trouser pockets.

"So, you - "

"I don't talk about my life," Five cuts him off immediately.

"Right," Klaus laughs to himself, starting to bite a nail out of pure anxiety. There are times when he does crave something to take the edge off reality. His problem's always been he can hear too many voices and they're _mean_ to him, but somehow, it hurts more when it's about a kid.

_He thinks you're weird, and pathetic, I mean, you're an adult, Klaus, but a total failure. You don't even have a job. You can't -_

"Hey!" Five roars at him, surprisingly strong for such a tiny individual, yanking Klaus by the arm as a car beeps obnoxiously loud at them, speeding off.

"Fucking hell, Klaus, did you not see that car hurtling towards you?!"

The funny, or perhaps sad, thing is, he really didn't. The present belongs to Diego, but without his love around to hold his hand, keeping him there, Klaus floats away.

"Oops," Klaus shrugs, "thanks for saving me," he chuckles, Five eyeing him with that look he's seen a million times before.

"Oh, also, if you swear in front of Diego, he'll lose his shit," Klaus warns him, "but I, being cool, don't care."

Five half-smiles, and for now, that's enough.

 

**

 


	2. I'm Not A Hamster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five defends Klaus, Diego & Five bond and Five has 'An Incident'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS! Thank you so much for your wonderful comments and kudos!!! I love them! Some of you thought it was a one shot and seemed panicked lol. I have to admit I am flighty and my motivation can dip but I'm riding the TUA high and your feedback makes it easy for me to sit and write, so, yeah, don't panic! This won't be a long story but I'm fully enjoying exploring these dynamics and your feedback is super motivating. Thank you so much!
> 
> Trigger warnings for this chapter: homophobic language and some violence.

 

 

Klaus doesn't think he's good at painting. In fact he'd argue he _knows_ he isn't good but then again, he doesn't paint for accolades. Throwing colour on a canvas, drawing eyes and doodling thought bubbles across a blank page is soothing, therapeutic, even. He's made some money selling queer art online but it's about enough for a Vietnamese takeaway every now and then. 

_ I wonder if I'll ever graduate, _ he thinks, paintbrush on his lips as he stares at the crazed eyes he's working on, canvas propped up as he makes the most of their little garden.

"What's it supposed to be?"

His _child -_ stood in his usual boring navy blazer-and-pants combo, holding a cup of coffee as big as his head - queries, frowning.

"My third eye," Klaus mutters, swirling in a pot of yellow, "my third eye, a million times."

"I'm more of a Paolo Uccello man myself," Five offers unhelpfully. Sometimes Klaus thinks the kid may as well be speaking Finnish to him. 

"Don't you have a nerd math class to attend?" Klaus retorts, dripping paint on his leather skirt.

"I've finished math for this morning," Five sighs, genuinely miserable about it, "I was thinking that perhaps we could go into town. I have an allowance and I need new shoes."

"Oh, shit, really?" Klaus gasps, suddenly feeling like a failure, like he should have noticed Five needed shoes days ago, "yeah! Let's go!"

Five does try to convince him that he can drive the old dusty mustang that sits in their garage but even Klaus isn't that daft, forcing him onto a bus, much to his dismay. The kid doesn't do small talk as such but he does allow Klaus to bleat on in his ear whenever they do spend a portion of their day together, and Klaus can't deny that he enjoys having someone to bounce his thoughts off. Five isn't exactly the encouraging, flamboyant little queer kid of Klaus's daydreams - he's pretty much the opposite of that - but it's nice, nonetheless.

"Here we are," Klaus announces, fully aware he's getting some  _ looks  _ being a  curly haired man in a paint-covered skirt, bright green turtleneck and heavy Doc Martens whilst accompanied by the most serious looking child of all time. He's used to be looked at but it's usually for the wrong reasons. As they clamber off the bus he grabs Five's backpack, knowing he shoved a wallet and some cigarettes in there, lighting one with a moan of contentment.

Five grimaces silently.

"What?" Klaus tuts, "I'm addicted. I can't help it."

"You're poisoning yourself," Five points out.

"But I look fucking  _ cool _ ," Klaus winks, leading them to an ATM. He doesn't use his bank card all that much so there's a few failed attempts as he punches in the wrong numbers, muttering to himself.

Klaus knows oblivious is a state he can often be in but what people don't always know is that he chooses it. If he doesn't block things out he takes too much in and that's when the crazy starts. Oblivious is a safety net and yet he isn't oblivious as he taps ash on the floor, finally able to draw out $20 before a fair hair, snarling boy sneers "you fucking  _ faggot _ ," as he strides on past them.

"What - "

"Oh," Klaus scoffs, "don't worry about it, kid, he's just going home to jack off over my ass and he feels guilty about it," Klaus scoffs except Five's already off, leaping after his fellow (but much slightly older and _much_ taller) teen, pouncing on him like a violent cat. 

Klaus goes to scream, a stark awareness of he needs to stop the kid in his care from brawling in the street hammering in his chest, but as Five knees the kid in his back and renders him useless on the floor, twisting his arm in what looks like an excruciating position, he doesn't bother. Five's knee rests on the now red-faced, out of breath teen's throat whilst his slight hands pin wrists to the gritty floor.

"Apologise!" Five demands with all the anger of a young warrior. Klaus can see his fingernails digging into the offender's pale skin. It's fucking impressive, really, if slightly bizarre that Five has the physical capability of overpowering someone twice his size before he digs his knee further into the throat under his rule. 

"Fuck! Get _off!_ " the imprisoned boy gasps, fear in his eyes, which Klaus has to laugh at.

"I think he mentioned an apology?" Klaus asks, faux-innocent. Women are turning to stare at the scene. Klaus throws what he hopes is a charming smile their way.

"I'm fucking  _ sorry _ !" the boy begs, Five finally releasing the weakened wrists from his own steel-like grip, not before grabbing a clump of hair and smacking it back down on the sidewalk. Klaus winces at the sound of it but sure enough the idiot moves, so he's not  _ dead.  _ Klaus can sleep easy. He watches with a morbid fascination as the boy tries to stand, embarrassed tears falling down, whilst Five begins to stride away confidently.

"Klaus!" he hears ring in his ears, "shoes."

Klaus throws the butt-end of his cigarette away, eyes still wide, before following his tiny knight in navy armour. They don't speak about Five's freakish strength or willingness to attack someone but, for god's sake, it's not like the guy didn't deserve it. Five buys his shoes and Klaus buys pink lemonade, swigging it on the bus as they make their way home with even more looks than their outwards journey thanks to Five's nicely bruising knuckles.

"I do appreciate you defending my honour," Klaus admits once they get through the door back to domestic peace, "it was extremely adorable."

"It was the right thing to do," Five deadpans, heading straight for the coffee.

"I suppose. They'll always exist, though, those kinds of men."

"As will those kind of men willing to throttle them," Five shrugs.

Klaus titters nervously.

"Yeah, well. You're rarer."

He reaches out to ruffle the neat mop of hair on Five's head but like a wizard, the bastard senses it, fixing Klaus with his best " _ you dare _ " death glare.  Klaus retreats.  
  


**  
  


Diego can’t claim to have noticed a huge change in his life since Five’s arrival, mostly because the kid is creepily self-sufficient, which he did warn them about. He knows Klaus aches to take care of someone and Five is the worst person they could have unwittingly picked for such a task, but if Diego’s honest he’s glad Five is… well... Five. 

Klaus is no dummy. He’s survived against all odds. He’s risen from the depths of Hell.  That doesn’t mean he knows how to take of himself, though. 

Sure, Klaus has crawled through wastelands, bloody and bruised, he still stands despite the demons who would love to keep him writhing around on the floor in filth but Klaus also forgets to eat until 3.00pm or brush his teeth until Diego’s kissed him and complained.

His baby spent so long fighting to stay alive that he never had the strength to practice the most basic of self care for the longest of times.

Five’s changing that, whether the kid knows it or not. He blends carrots and peaches and pours two cups, bringing one full-to-the-brim glass to Klaus. Usually Klaus would distract Diego until Diego forgot all about the fruit, because he’s sneaky and smart like that (or Diego’s just weak for long eyelashes, soft lips) but he can’t escape from Five’s cool stare. Rooms are clean as opposed to dotted with scrap bits of paper and candles melted down onto tabletops, post is picked up and opened rather than deadlines missed.  He’s grateful for it in a way he isn’t sure how to express because to him, Five’s like a small housemate he nods at in passing occasionally. 

Things don't change until one early Tuesday, when it’s still dusky mornings, Diego having lent over Klaus’s sleeping form and placed a kiss on his lips before tiptoeing downstairs and barging into the kitchen, flipping the light on.

“Holy Mother of God, fuck  _ me _ ,” he gasps, jumping ten feet high at the sight of Five sitting at the breakfast table, book in one hand and the other cradling a coffee cup.

“Morning, Diego,” the kid nods. Diego’s heart is still like a drum in his chest as his anxiety settles.

“It’s 6.00am, dude,” Diego accuses, searching for his portable coffee holder, “why are you up?”

“I’m always awake at 6,” Five replies, sipping his breakfast, “I usually stay in my room until you’ve left.”

“Huh. And why are you in the dark?”

“I need to train myself to be able to read without artificial light aiding me,” Five mutters, clearly getting more irritated by the conversation by the second. 

Diego shrugs, waiting for the kettle to boil so he can pour his coffee and go. Work allows him to fight in a way that’s acceptable and in that sense he looks forward to it, but he can’t ignore what's been on his mind since day one.

“Hey - can I, uh - talk to you? Real quick, I swear?”

Five visibly swallows but he puts down his book and looks up expectantly.

“Listen,” Diego begins, thinking about his words because the last thing he needs to do is stutter in front of this presidential child, “I know you’re not dumb. In fact, you’re probably smarter than the both of us. You can see that Klaus, uh… sometimes he struggles with the world.”

“No shit,” Five snarks, although to Diego’s surprise it’s followed by a mumbled, “sorry.”

“It’s not his fault,” Diego says, taking a seat opposite Five, “but he does. And he’s sober, he’s good. But I worry about him. A lot.”

Five cocks his head to one side, fingers tapping the mug he’s holding.

“I’m aware,” he says slowly, “and I can take care of it.”

“I know you’re a kid, I know you’ve been through some tough stuff but I swear sometimes it’s like living with my  _ abuelo _ again.”

Five’s thinking and Diego’s learnt over time to allow someone to think before they speak.

“I don’t need coddling or pampering,” he eventually says with sincerity, “if I do need something, I’ll sort it. You are absolved of any new parental guilt, Diego.”

Diego huffs with amusement. That’s his cue to get going, he assumes, standing up.

“You’re a weird kid,” he tells Five but there’s a fondness to it that he can’t fully explain, amplified as Five full on smiles at him for the very first time.  
  


**  
  


Susie may have been right, Five will give her that.

He’s not done too badly landing at the Hargreeves home.

Diego loves a pep talk and clearly is happy to have another vegetable fanatic on his side whilst Klaus can channel his demons’ energy in better ways by asking Five to explain how to rearrange formula. He has utterly no clue, despite Five’s excellent teaching skills, but Five doesn’t mind. The best way to consolidate your knowledge on a topic is to teach it, so he indulges Klaus’ wide-eyed interest. He makes for an odd student, sat opposite Five in a long t-shirt and a floor-length red robe with fluffy-edged wrists, but Five’s come to know Klaus’s fashion sense is one of a kind.

“The subject of a formula is the variable,” Five insists, “look, the letter is the variable. It stands alone. So here, x = 5t + 4, x is the subject. Got it?”

Klaus lights up a cigarette because for some bizarre reason Diego allows him to smoke in the kitchen, as long as they’re not preparing or eating food. 

“Fascinating. Variables. Letters. Carry on, my tiny tutor!”

Five narrows his eyes.

“So to change the formula, we rearrange it to get a new variable, just as we do with an equation. However, each step is at the right hand side is not a number, but an expression!"

_ (Ok, so sue him - Five genuinely likes math). _

Klaus makes a face and takes a long, deep drag of his cigarette.

“We don’t have to do this. You can just leave me be.”

“Great,” Klaus leaps up, as if Five even invited him to his studies, “I’ll be upstairs... drawing!”

That’s a lie but Five has assignments to complete so Klaus being upstairs painting his nails is fine by him.

 

He just wishes he could have seen it coming. 

There’s often a warning, a tell-tale sign he can recognise before something like this happens and he could curse himself for becoming too comfortable, his productive days and pleasant evenings leading him to a false sense of security.

It’s always the same dream.

He’s running through the burning tunnel of the building, stones crumbling around him and _they’re_ screaming bloody _murder_. He wasn’t there when the bomb went off, when they melted to death, but in his dreams, he is. The most sadistic thing is he does reach them, takes his Mother in his arms as radiation and fire claims her. He stares right into her soul as she dies in agony. He has to see that part before the walls close in on him too but to this day he isn’t sure if he ever dies as he always wakes up screaming, back in the land of the living. Except this time, Diego’s holding his shoulders and yelling something about water.

It’s too fuzzy to focus, white noise filling his head as a hand soothes his back and water is held in front of his lips. He’s pretty thankful for it, gulping, as he always wakes up drenched in sweat from the exertion, imagined or not. 

“Five,” Klaus is whispering, coming into focus, propping him up, “are you ok? Five?”

Diego’s a little further away now, stood with hands on his hips, assessing him. Five wants to tell him to give it a rest, to let him be, but he knows it’ll be futile. He’ll have questions to answer and for the first time he doesn’t want to lie or run away before Susie places a city wide search on him. He feels weaker than he usually does after the dream, lolling on one of Klaus’s skinny shoulders.

“Fine,” he says hoarsely, Klaus encouraging him to drink more water and the world starts to shift into focus a little more. He shuffles, making way to stand up and Klaus thankfully allows it. The two men are looking at him like he’s an injured deer, like they should do something but they’re not sure what.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Five pants, patting himself down in the now grossly damp pyjamas, “you can go back to bed.”

“Come on, Five,” Diego reasons, “you woke us up screaming and fighting. I could just about restrain you.”

“Yeah,” Five shrugs, “so? I have nightmares sometimes.”

“You need some food,” Diego mutters, “some bread, or seeds - "

“ - I’m not a hamster,” Five glares before being shocked by Klaus tugging on his forearm.

“Listen, just get back in bed, it’s all good,” Klaus insists, bed hair everywhere, “hey, Diego, go and get Dolores.”

Diego’s face is practically comical.

“I don’t think - ”

“ - go and get her, please, baby,” Klaus says sweetly.

“Who’s that?” Five asks, sleepy again as he climbs into bed, body temperature racing. Perhaps it’s the tiredness as the adrenaline leaves his body as he sinks back into the mattress, propped up by pillows when Diego returns looking sheepish, a plastic head in his hands.

“Dolores,” he murmurs disbelievingly, “here you go.”

Klaus accepts her, turning the life-size head to Five.

“Dolores is who I used to practice hair and makeup on, back in the day,” Klaus laughs, “and, you know what? She is a great listener.”

“Klaus, come on, this is  _ Five _ , he’s not - ” 

Five holds out his hands and Klaus places her in them gently. Five doesn’t know what the hell Klaus did to her, one side of her head shaved and hair cut unevenly. Dolores has large blue eyes and unblemished skin.

“Yeah, there you are,” Klaus says, upbeat. Five knows he’s watching him, knows Diego is too. He strokes the uneven hair where Klaus has made a mess of it, his heart beat back to normal.

“Thank you,” he mutters, eyes fighting sleep. Klaus squeezes his shoulder.

“See you in the morning, kid,” he adds before slinking off, tugging on Diego’s hand. Five wriggles down into the duvet, Dolores in his arms. It’s still night time, the sun nowhere to be seen, and that means everything is a little less raw than it is in the daylight. It's still night time, he tells himself, drifting off, dreaming of meadows. 

Meadows and large blue eyes.

**

 


	3. I'm The Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus and Diego work out a little pent-up tension. Five shows a softer side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! A chapter with some sexy times for our fave parents, plus a little family bonding. I thought I'd be able to get chapters out every 2/3 days but I've been struggling do that. I think I have 2 chapters left to write and I have a plan of what I want to include, but as always, comments and kudos keep the story alive! Thank you, I grin like mad every time I get a new comment from you guys! I appreciate your feedback and support so much.
> 
> Please bear in mind this chapter has sexual content and a smigden of 'daddy' kink. *g*

Gently shutting Five’s door behind him, Klaus knows sleep is out of the question, his brain far too busy for rest at the best of times. 

“C’mon,” he whispers, taking Diego’s hand and leading him downstairs, his lover squeezing back.

_ I’m here, I’ve got you. _

Klaus knows that. It’s little Five who’s lonely, not him.

Diego yawns as he makes tea and Klaus fusses in their living room, blowing dust off a barely used lamp and propping up cushions as Diego ushers himself in, kicking back at the door. 

“You know, you’re pretty smart,” Diego smiles, still sleepy, “I thought you were being a dick when you mentioned Dolores.”

“Not just a pretty face,” Klaus winks, taking the tea, “and, y’know. I heard ‘objects’ help. If you’re not the ‘talking to another human’ sort of guy.”

“Do you think we need to get him a therapist?” Diego frowns, stretching into the couch, “‘cause that shit isn’t normal.”

“Let’s take it one day at a time,” he suggests, discarding his tea in favour of settling into Diego’s embrace. His body is always warm, he always smells good and regardless of what his therapists have said to him about how being in love with _ yourself  _ will save you, Klaus finds all he needs in Diego’s arms. They can say all they want about how dangerous it is to pin your every hope and dream on another person but Klaus will never shield himself. Diego could rip it all away and leave him stranded and still, this unconditional, caution-to-the-wind, love at first sight, all-or-nothing fairytale would have been worth every single second. Klaus wouldn’t ever change a thing about it.

“You ok, baby?” 

Klaus hums into the chest he’s resting upon, body tingling as Diego plays with his hair.

“What you thinkin’?”

“That you have hands sculpted by God herself,” he mutters.

Diego smiles, continuing his journey through the curls whilst Klaus’s eyelids flutter in pleasure.

“I like having you like this,” Diego admits, sparking his mischievous side.

“How about _ having  _ me another way?”

He blinks up at Diego innocently, knowing he looks anything but. It has the desired effect when the other man manhandles him up just to shove him back into the plush cushions underneath them. Klaus makes to move, to chase a kiss, electric bolts jolting through his body as Diego denies it, gently grasping his neck.

“No kiss for you,” Diego whispers, eliciting a soft, hurt whimper.

“Please,  _ daddy _ ,” Klaus mouths, eyes half open, pliable and boneless as he’s held up by stronger hands. It’s a red light to an angry bull, a card he’ll play when he wants no mercy and in the aftermath of the nightmare getting out of his head in the most sobering way possible is better than ecstasy. This real ecstasy, as Diego angrily unties the silky nightgown and rids himself of his boxers, letting Klaus move his elegant hands around his hardening cock, gives him a high he’s never reached before.

He wants a kiss more than anything, searching for kiss as Diego’s shoulders sag, breath hitched as Klaus jerks him off but each time he gets close enough to capture those lips Diego moves, play biting Klaus instead, moving to his long neck.

“Jesus, you haven’t given me a hickey in years,” Klaus laughs, love drunk, bringing Diego’s dick in line with his own.

“Do we have any lube down here?"

Diego’s voice is cracked, eyes blown with lust. Klaus could happily whack off looking at that determined desperation.

“In the fridge,” he admits.

“The frid… you know  _ Five  _ keeps his favourite pot of jam in there,” Diego mutters, moving off to go and retrieve it, “no wonder the poor kid has nightmares when we keep lube next to his breakfast."

Klaus is in fits of giggles at that because he’s not exactly wrong and it’s true, Five has demanded to know why a bottle of  _ ANALyse Me  _ lives in their kitchen, looking pale as he held it up for inspection.

“Come on, lover boy,” Klaus gasps breathlessly, still laughing, which won’t get old. Sex used to be performative, something he did to _get_ something else or just to _feel_ something, getting himself into dirty, dangerous situations with strangers. Laughter during sex could have gotten him a beating in the yesteryears. He didn’t know what sex could be, _should_ be, not until he spilt coffee all over an angry, handsome police detective’s leather shoes.

Diego resumes his position between slim, long legs, using the acquired lube on fingers Klaus is obsessed with before smirking, leaning down, working his way inside of Klaus with those fingers that always are on the right side of demanding. With a knowing curl, forcing Klaus’s leg further back, Klaus lets his head fall onto the armrest, unable to stop a slightly too loud, blissed out moan.

“Ssh honey, you’ll wake the baby,” Diego jokes, muscles tense as he continues his cruel intention to make Klaus shake.

“ _ I’m  _ the baby,” Klaus gasps back, hands on broad shoulders, resisting the urge to cry with pleasure as Diego finally stops prepping and lines up his dick, catching on the open rim. Diego might be a giving lover but the man is an egotistical asshole on occasion, making Klaus beg until his throat is sore from pleading and his eyes are full of tears. Sadistic, actually.

“What’d y’say?” Diego asks, panting, still teasing his cock around Klaus.

“‘You’re a sadistic bastard,” Klaus drawls, but the slow smile he’s easing himself into is gone when Diego bottoms out without much warning, just a full thrust inside, gripping Klaus’s hips with a strength he usually holds off on and slamming a hand across Klaus’s open mouth just in time to capture a soft scream. It’s not going to be pretty or sensual, not like this, Diego taking him hard and fast in their little living room, curtains wide open. If an insomniac dog walker stopped to let their dog shit on their lawn, eyes taking in the neighbourhood, and they squinted, they’d probably be able to make out Klaus getting pounded into their couch. The thought makes Klaus grip a little tighter onto Diego’s neck, the hand in his mouth now just fingers across his tongue, a grip on his jaw as Diego begins to break a sweat, soft little beads of it gathering around his hairline.

“Come on, baby,” Klaus tries to encourage, cock straining against warm skin with every thrust, but it doesn’t sound like much, not with Diego’s fingers gripping his mouth tightly. God, each time he angles slightly to the - just -  _ there  _ \- it’s like taking a bath in honey under the brightest sunshine, like warm glitter in his belly, Klaus feeling him tense, seeing that handsome face red and angry as he fucks into him.

Sometimes -  _ most of the time _ \- there’s words, filthy or sickly sweet, but not tonight. Removing his fingers, letting Klaus breath properly again before renewed efforts, Klaus is barely able to stand how Diego won’t allow him to break eye contact, subtly attempting to kiss his neck instead.

“Uh uh,” Diego warns, somehow still coherent as he looms over him, “I know your game. Look at me. Look at me while I fuck you, Klaus.”

Hands move from his hips to his slightly narrower waist, cock still hard and pulsing inside of him and Klaus whimpers, defeated, as he obeys.

“ _ Good boy, _ ” Diego pants, and that’s all it really takes, that need to be seen, to be felt, as  _ good _ \- tipping him into climax, toes curling as his dick spurts and his mind sets itself on fire, Diego grunting before following him, smacking into him before he collapses, body heaving.

Over the years Diego’s got slightly less uptight about laying their in their filth but he’s still a little clean freak despite Klaus’s whining that he wants to feel him inside of him and smell him for hours, smacking at Klaus’s wanting hands and muttering things about his boyfriend being a gross ass pervert. 

“Stay with me,” Klaus blinks dreamily as he feels Diego pull out, “let’s just cuddle.”

“I would love to,” - and Klaus can hear the ‘but’ before it’s said - “but maybe once I’ve wiped the spunk off my dick. And off you.”

“Uggggggh, such a Momma’s boy,” Klaus complains as he’s left empty, Diego bothering to relocate his boxers and throwing Klaus’s gown over his crotch, too sated to really pay attention to anything other than how handsome Diego is which is what makes Five’s appearance that more sudden.

“ _¡Dios mío!_ _ ,  _ fuck  _ me, _ ” Diego yelps, a whole different man from the man he was ten minutes ago, clutching at his chest and he has the gall to label Klaus dramatic.

“Jesus, Five,” Klaus giggles, still a little drunk off his sober high, “please tell me you opened that door post-sex.”

Five stands stiffly, Dolores clutched under an arm, looking most displeased.

“You think I would be here if I walked in on you mid-coitus?” he bitches, looking much younger than usual in his oversized pyjamas and that goddamn head pressed against his small frame. Klaus kicks at Diego which earns him a warning look, which he supposes is fair, as they make room for in the middle for a small addition.

“Come sit, kid,” he pats, noticing the way Five looks at the couch warily.

“It’s _ clean _ ,” Klaus eye rolls, “we’re not animals.”

Five isn’t convinced, Klaus can tell that much, but he takes his place without much complaining.

“It’s warm,” is all he can muster.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’ve been lying on it, and I’m hot to touch, baby,” Klaus whistles. Diego passes him his tea, now lukewarm but drinkable, a comfy silence amongst them until Five pipes up.

“Hey, what about a coffee?” 

He looks at Diego, hopeful, confident he can’t be turned down now he’s got the nightmare excuse to arm himself with and Diego shrugs, clearly relaxed after getting his.

“Make it yourself,” he smirks at Five, who frowns before shuffling off to do so.

“Aw, you could have made it for him,” Klaus whispers, the boiling of the kettle drowning his voice out, pressing his foot into Diego’s side.

“I’m not his Mom,” Diego says, offended.

“No, that’s me,” Klaus laughs, Five wandering back in with the largest mug they own, full to the brim of the caffeine he’s obviously addicted to, Dolores still attached to his hip.

“What’s the joke?”

“Me, being your new Mommy,” Klaus sighs, moving his legs so the boy can sit.

Five doesn’t look fazed.

“Is that how you identify?”

“As a Mom?”

“No. You identify as non binary?” Five asks, curious and serious, not that he’s anything other than those two things.

“I don’t know, kid,” Klaus stretches, careful to mind his gown stays wrapped up around him because Five doesn’t need any further trauma, “I’m a little bit of everything.”

“I had a friend at the home, before I arrived here,” Five muses, “they rejected the gender binary. They said gender as we see it is prescribing behaviour to individuals in accordance with morally arbitrary biological characteristics, placing them in positions within a hierarchy.”

“English, please, Five,” Diego reminds him.

“Gender is viewed as a biological concept,” Five tries, “a binary, rather than a spectrum.”

“Boys, please,” Klaus groans, “it’s 4.00am.”

“Yes,” Five mutters, “and as for earlier. I apologise for my behaviour.”

“Hey, you don’t need to do that,” Diego says, patting Five’s small shoulder quickly, “just tell us what you need from here.”

Five cradles Dolores, considering it. Klaus knows the kid disapproves of love in general but he can’t stop himself, throwing long, thin arms around him because goddamnit, the boy needs it. He’d shrivel up and die if he was never touched, never held, and regardless of what Five says Klaus knows _everyone_ needs to feel love.

“Really?” Five asks moodily, but he isn’t shrugging him off, just keeping his defenses high.

“Indulge me,” Klaus pleads, “you’re so tiny, and so angry. Let me love you.”

Diego begins to titter, leaning in to finally allow Klaus a kiss above Five’s head before he envelopes them both.

“I hate this,” Five continues to bitch, resting on Klaus’s chest comfortably.

 

Klaus doesn't know when they fell asleep like that, curled up together and happy. They wake to the steady traffic of the block as people set off for work, Diego complaining about missing his alarm but Five is unusually out of it, sleeping like the dead, letting Klaus slip away and tuck him in with a blanket. Klaus lets Diego hop about the house in a fast, quiet rage. He kneels next to the boy, unconscious and free, as he sleeps. 

"You'll be ok, kid," Klaus promises his sleeping form, "we've got you."

**

 


	4. Calamari, Moules Marinières!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five's making progress, Klaus is full of love and Diego has a lightbulb moment but it's a little too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm beyond grateful for the response to this little fic which is just my dumbass headcanons of Kliego as Dads and their odd little son. LMAO. Every comment and kudos is a little high for me, I'm so grateful. Thank you for reading!

 

Five has to admit, since that night, he owes the two men charged with his care a little more than contempt and driving up their grocery costs via coffee and peanut butter. Klaus still hangs from his door frame, peering in with wide eyes as Five studies meticulously at the desk provided but instead of shoo’ing him away (not without orders for coffee), he’ll sometimes allow Klaus to float in and witter on about something inane.

He can’t give Klaus those warm, heart-in-your-throat hugs the man is so fond of, not often, anyway.

The last time he held someone and they held him back was _her_ , in his dreams. Her eyes bloodshot, throat disintegrating with poison.

Diego’s softer than he lets on, bringing Five back odd little artifacts from the job that would just be binned otherwise, old fountain pens and the ashtray of a slightly famous mathematician (“ _that’s not permission to smoke, Five_.”).

They both tried to get him to talk, of course.

Five’s getting used to the outright questions and the subtle ones, dodging them like laser beams. It’s easy with Diego because Diego is more apprehensive of emotions. Klaus makes things difficult. The man will cry at the drop of a hat and, much to Five’s chagrin, he’s become affected by the tears.

He’s pretty sure Klaus isn’t as silly as he makes out because the waterworks are practically flooding their little home these days.

“Five, sweetie, talk to me,” Klaus sighs dramatically as Five relieves himself of studies, pottering downstairs to make brunch.

“What about?”

Five doesn’t mind playing dumb if it delays time.

“You _know_ ,” Klaus drawls, spinning around the kitchen in the world’s tightest pink jeans and a sequin vest top, “I can’t sleep. Just tell me what you’re dreaming about.”

Five rolls his eyes and makes sure Klaus sees it.

“As you well know Klaus, my parents died in a terrorist attack,” Five explains, like he’s talking about the weather, “I’ve told you this. It has left me with some minor upset.”

Klaus, predictably, wells up.

“I just can’t stop hearing you screaming, everytime I close my eyes...” he blubs, eyes a little wild and arms dangerously close to Five, as if he’s about to hold him tight.

“Klaus,” Five warns, losing the softness as he storms over to the fridge to find peanut butter, “do you not think I’ve had years of intense therapy ever since they passed? It’s a simple dream. Don’t you have better things to do?”

“No,” Klaus answers, like that’s a stupid question, which perhaps it is.

“You’re not my parent,” Five snaps viciously, “you won’t even remember me in a few years time so please, concentrate on your own life.”

He regrets the word as he says them. Klaus’s lip wobbles, his throat constricting as he looks out the window, heartbroken.

 _Good_ , the worst part of Five thinks, angrily grabbing his refreshments before darting away, _finally, silence_.

He wants to be softer but Klaus makes it difficult. He’s so much, spilling out around the edges and consuming everything. Five’s anger doesn’t die, not even as he suppresses the foreign sense of guilt with binomial distribution, his absolute favorite math topic yet Klaus’s ghostly wandering and desperately sad eyes weigh on him like steel.

Anger always paves the way for guilt. It’s the last mad shriek of the helpless.

Saving his work, he’s about to tiptoe downstairs when he hears the running of water in their bathroom and peers in, seeing Klaus running fingertips in the bath water, still (thankfully) fully clothed.

Five knows he’s always struggled with pride, particularly the swallowing of it, even if it’s the right thing to do. Once he misinterpreted The Remainer Theorem, rendering all his polynomials incorrect. Only Roya Lai noticed, his classmate, in the home before last, pointing it out to him subtly. None of the other fools could keep up with Five or Roya, all light years behind working on different material, so it was easy for Five to make a point of lambasting her until she broke, upset, mocked by the others in their small group for getting it wrong. No one would have believed Five messed up a math rule.

“Klaus,” he says, colder than he hoped his voice would be.

Klaus smiles briefly before dropping a sparkly blue bath bomb, watching it fizz upwards.

Five taps his fingers on the door frame, uneasy.

“You can ask me one question,” he gives in, even as it pains him to feel the upper hand drop slightly.

Klaus looks at him sincerely, dipping an elbow in the bath, swirling the pretty blues around.

“It’s ok, Five,” he eventually says, “I’m sorry for pushing it.”

Five finds himself chewing his lip, an odd habit he thought he had grown out of. It just seems there’s so many unsaid things in the air between them. Five’s usually ok with that, but Klaus’s morose energy is like a blanket that he can’t shake off, this strange need to see Klaus content like an itch he wants to scratch when he finally clicks. It’s not that Klaus needs to baby him, it’s that he feels _responsible_ for Five’s anguish.

Five could almost laugh.

“You know, I’ve lived with 16 different host households, over the past three years,” he points out. Klaus hums in reply, now emptying a whole bottle of _Unicorn Tears Bath Bubble_ into the tub.

“This is the only place that’s like a home. A real home,” Five adds. Klaus looks up, finally, smiling.

“Would you like a tea while you bathe?” Five asks, not enjoying the sensation of vulnerability that begins to curl in his chest, Klaus nodding happily, which gives him the excuse he needs to dart downstairs.

It’s contagious, is the only thing Five can conclude. He’s been dropped into the lives of many, sidelined wives with perpetual frowns and busy, disconnected husbands who either want to ‘straighten him out’ or ignore his existence and he’s hated, or at least pitied, them all. It couldn’t be more different in their home and whilst it could be easy to label Klaus as the mother hen figure, it’s Diego who checks in with him to check he’s eating enough fruit, submitting his work to his tutor on time (as if Five needs a reminder) and does the biweekly wash. They’re a team, more so than what Five has seen in any other marriage or partnership he’s encountered in thirteen years, which is more than most teenagers.

They’ve infected him with a dastardly dose of caring for others.

After delivering the tea and virtually presenting his impeccably researched project on the Ottoman Empire to the world’s dullest history teacher, Five slaps his Mac book shut.

“Quite a day, Dolores,” he murmurs at the lopsided head, still in his possession.

 _You should go and see him paint, kid. Show an interest_.

“Fine,” he sighs, tidying his desk first and foremost. The house is quite small, inherited from Diego’s tía, but Five finds it much warmer than some of the large, expensive homes he’s resided in. He’s become fond of the way the wallpaper in the hallway has flecks of paint from Klaus’s clumsiness, the many photo collages of Klaus, Diego and their family, the piano that sits under their stairs that neither man can play.

He smiles wryly to himself when he recalls his third day of residence in the Hargreeves’ home, when he took a seat and began to play _Piano Concerto No. 23 in A Major_ , much to the utter bewilderment of the two uncultured clowns who were still strangers to him.

“Hey, Klaus?”

He peeks out the kitchen window, Klaus swiping a paint brush across his canvas, large and painted green - all the greens - as if Klaus had just chucked the color over it.

Five quite likes it. It’s simple, yet bold. He tells Klaus as much, happy it earns him a smile.

“Thanks, kid,” Klaus beams, embracing the compliment, “green’s my lucky color.”

Only toddlers and insects have favorite colors, but Five catches that fact on his tongue and swallows it again. There are more important things in the world than being right, such as Klaus, free, grinning, staring up at his lucky green square.

 

**

Diego’s proud of today’s find, a dusty old book they found under the couch of a deceased junkie which was only going to the bottom of a rubbish pile: _Ada Lovelace: On Math and Feminism._ Five’s going to lap that up and Diego’s not ashamed to privately admit to himself he’s excited for that warm, bubbly feeling he’s going to get as the kid accepts the gift, happy, before the little weirdo composes himself and returns to his natural state of grumpy old Grandpa.

He’s still trussed up in his bullet proof vest, a safety procedure they always undertake when spending days downtown, in all black, tight clothing to keep him light on his feet so as he opens their front door he’s ready to see his baby, knowing how wild Klaus goes for the whole superhero look.

Especially a superhero in black leather.

He slaps the book down on top of the old, dumb piano which he really must get round to selling at some point, spying Klaus through the crack of the living room door, feet tucked under himself as he enjoys a tub of popcorn.

“Hello darling,” Klaus yells absentmindedly, waving in his direction but not taking his attention off the TV.

“Hi babe,” Diego smirks, edging the door open, “hope you’re ready to be spanked red and ra - ”

_“HELLO, DIEGO!”_

A furious, horrified Five pops round from the other side. Diego always forgets they’ve managed to squeeze two couches into that room.

Klaus titters, amused, whilst Diego’s lost his mojo, Five glaring at him hatefully.

“ _Nice_ outfit,” Klaus winks, beginning to wriggle off the couch but Diego flaps him away with a hand, not in the mood now he knows Five’s judging him. He settles for a stolen kiss instead, helping himself to a fist of sweet’n’salted.

“Got you a book, Five,” he says, still chomping, “all about that Lovelace chick.”

Five perks up like a puppy being teased with a treat, running off to find it. He hears the boy’s light footsteps as he runs upstairs for solitude and that’s his cue to reach an arm around Klaus, pull at the tufts of his hair.

“Ow,” Klaus complains happily, utterly unsubtle as he runs a hand up Diego’s thigh, “we gonna play later, hmm? I can be a damsel in distress.”

“Yeah,” Diego drawls, slow, his cock stirring in his pants but he can wait. The beauty with Klaus is they have forever.

“Why don’t we go out tonight?” Klaus quips, “a little family dinner.”

“Sure,” Diego smiles, “only if you make yourself look pretty for me,” he adds, hand still stroking Klaus’s neck, his eyes trained on the way Klaus licks his lips, nodding his agreement before launching in for a hot, welcome kiss.

“Best get to it, then,” Klaus teases, wiggling over Diego’s lap before dancing out of the room. Predictably, there’s arguments over where to go but Five just has to be nice to Klaus for literally twelve seconds and get his own way, Five smirking smugly in Diego’s direction as Diego’s overruled in favor of french food.

“French food, come on - ”

“ - delicious,” Five hisses, straightening his jacket and wearing a tie by choice, because he can’t possibly be a real teenager, “calamari, moules _marinières_!”

Five looks wildly in love as he lists all the food he’s desperate to eat, Klaus gawping at him and clutching his heart.

There’s the issue of the creepy doll, which Five carries like a purse, Diego scratching his stubble and wondering whether to bring it up because Five might be a child but clutching a doll is only acceptable if you're a kid under the age of seven. He points at Dolores questioningly and it truly wasn’t worth the look of fury on Five’s face.

“Aw, let’s take her,” Klaus shrugs, “come on, boys, let’s go, or we never will,” ushering them out. Klaus is a good distractor. Diego’s known that for years. He’s good at distraction in the best and the worst of ways, managing to talk Diego down from busting a nose of a rude, subtly homophobic waiter to his kittenish, horny hands when they’ve tried to be fancy and attend a theatre show. Sure enough, Five’s chattering about Lovelace and Bernoulli numbers signal an end to the teenage tantrum and Diego's too focused on the road to lose his cool with Five’s attitude.

 _Cote_ looks small and pretentious from the outside but it’s pretty on the inside, nice booth tables with soft pink coloring. Perhaps not the place you’d bring your teenage son for dinner, but a pretty waitress welcomes them all the same, cooing over Five.

“Oh gosh, what a cutie!” she shrieks, mouth stretched wide in a smile, “you are just _adorable._ Let me find you boys a booth.”

Five smiles, strutting ahead of them but still within earshot.

“Good job she doesn’t know you, eh, Five. You might stand a shot,” Diego whispers loudly, the waitress too far in front to hear him. Five whips round and sneers but Diego can see he’s fighting a grin.

“Here’s some menus for you guys,” she offers, blushing when Diego winks at her as a thanks, “I can really recommend the _escalope de veau_!”

“Well thank you, Miss Waitress,” Klaus declares, “give us a moment!”

Klaus does indeed look pretty, just as Diego demanded, an orange kimono paired with leather pants, a tucked in vest top, plenty of jewelry and smoky, eyelined eyes. Diego moves the drinks list because there’s no fun in Klaus being taunted with having to read the descriptions of delicious French wine all evening.

“We should have gone for a Mexican,” Diego pouts, “this is too fancy.”

“For you, maybe,” Five quips, “but Klaus and I are men of taste.”

“Klaus?!” Diego laughs, “the man thinks a bag of Herr’s Jalapeno Crunchy Cheestix and two Dum-Dum lollipops is the height of sophistication.”

“Hey!” Klaus pipes up, mock hurt, “our son has been teaching me high culture,” he adds, half joking, sneaking a glance at Five.

Five says nothing, eyes glued to the menu.

“Yo, fish tacos, though,” Diego groans in pleasure, “I’d kill for _albóndigas_.”

Five, the pretentious asshole, orders in French, making the waitress almost fall over herself with declaring him the cutest kid she’s ever met. He hasn’t been able to name or place the feeling of irritation Five inspires in him on occasion, not until now, until he sees this defensive young guy in his impeccable suit, speaking a language that isn’t deemed lesser than English, whilst Klaus stares at him with metaphorical heart eyes.

Holy hell, he’s _jealous._

Five’s everything Diego never was. Diego, always too brash and quick to react, his other language demonized by the teachers he encountered, the names he was called. He’s fond of Five in many ways but he isn’t dumb, he knows his relationship with their new addition isn’t as warm as Klaus and Five’s relationship is. Plus, that’s _Five_ , not exactly the sort of kid who wants endless attention.

Klaus is right, often telling him off (not without plenty of kisses and gropes, so Diego finds it hard to take seriously) for being too proud, too defensive.

“I’m just playin’ with you,” Diego interrupts them, the new found discovery making him soften, “this is a good choice, Five.”

Five nods in acknowledgement.

“Water for the table,” the cute waitress smiles, placing it down, “hey, kid, what’s your name?”

 _Interesting_ , Diego thinks, _pray, do tell, Five!_

“My name’s Five,” Five says cheerily, much to her confusion.

“Like, the number?” cute waitress asks, nervous, way too involved for Diego’s patience.

“It’s Fico,” he makes up, “he just hates his name, isn’t that right, _sweetie?_ ”

“Peaceful ruler,” Five nods, almost smiling, because of course Five knows the meaning of it, “yeah. Fico.”

“Oh,” waitress coos, “that’s so cute. You guys are so _cute_. I wish I had two Dads!”

Diego’s about to say something brutal to counteract her patronizing tone when Klaus orders a round of virgin margaritas, making her skip away.

“Hey, Fico,” Diego grins, “I don’t think there’s anything _peaceful_ about you, bro.”

“I hate it,” Klaus scowls, “Fico? He’s more of a Sebastian.”

“ _Five_ ,” Five stresses, and that’s pretty much how the evening descends, constant bickering, Klaus freaking out at the majority of the dishes, Diego dreaming of the fat burrito he’s going to make when they get home and Five downing virgin margaritas like they’re laced with tequila. Diego can’t stop grinning at their little corner of cosiness, Klaus animated and on form, eliciting more laughter from Five than Diego’s ever seen.

And Five, with the top button of his crisp white shirt undone, giggly as Klaus tries to speak French, he seems, well - he’s -- _free_ -

Diego’s unimpressed when his phone starts to buzz, excusing himself silently. He’s surprised to see Susie flash across the screen, sliding his thumb across it as he slips outside in the crisp evening air.

“Susie?”

“Hi, Diego Hargreeves, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, what’s up?”

“Hi Diego,” the falsely happy voice greets him, “it’s about Mr Five.”

“Yeah?”

Diego’s puzzled, waiting impatiently because he knows Five won’t be dialling Susie up if he can help it. The boy seems thoroughly disappointed by his social worker but also utterly unfazed by her. Diego gets it, he knows the service is overworked and underfunded, they’ve been checked and inspected a thousand times which can only mean trouble, if she’s bothering to bother them.

“It’s great news,” Susie continues brightly, “we’ve found him adoptive parents.”

“Oh,” Diego laughs, “no, don’t worry about that. We’re good.”

“It’s - it’s not a choice, sir,” Susie replies and Diego can picture her awkward expression, “they’re all cleared and ready to go. Five will be with them by Monday.”

“Susie,” Diego begins, surprised by how desperate he sounds, “that gives us --  less than a week.”

“Sure, but you know, that’s fostering! You knew this, Diego,” she soothes yet she may have well stuck a knife in his throat.

“I - we want to keep him,” he demands but this throat is filling up, tightening desperately, “he can stay.”

“Mr. Hargreeves, it isn’t possible,” Susie says sadly, “I need you to have him all packed and ready for pick up Monday morning. Ok?”

He looks through the window back into the restaurant and pinpoints Klaus twirling an umbrella in his hand from the mocktail, passing it to Five who mimics him, tucking the little umbrella into his top pocket.

“Yeah,” he forces his lips to move, ending the call before he says something he’ll regret.

**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh! Is this the end, then? :( Stay tuned! 
> 
> I'm off to sunny Sweden for a wee while so I won't be able to update for a good week, will definitely be the longest wait inbetween chapters. I'm sorry, people! But hey, you can leave me encouragement in the mean time ;D


	5. Daft and Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diego has to break the news to Klaus, Five interrupts a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovely people. I'm so happy that you have been reading and enjoying my fic. This is a mini chapter really as I have some deadlines and a busy long weekend ahead of me but I didn't want to keep you waiting too long for a new chapter. I would say not *too* much happens in this chapter but we're dealing with the aftermath of the phone call and there's some world building around emotions and relationships. I expect there will be two more chapters of this. This chapter is all Diego's POV, next will be Klaus, and final will be a mix but I'll probably keep a Five focus. I know how it's going to end, that's all I'll say..
> 
> Comments and kudos are my drug of choice <3
> 
> **

**

 

It was a shame to end that evening outing with such a heavy heart. Diego couldn’t relax as Five’s virgin margaritas seemed to have a placebo like effect, making the boy loose lipped and younger than he’s ever seemed. He ached for the sensation he should be having, one of joy. Klaus remained oblivious, too high on Five’s attention to notice Diego’s detachment although he did reach for his lover’s thigh on occasion, winking cheekily when Five was nose-deep in a drink.

“Baby, this is everything,” Klaus had said so only Diego could hear him, leaning up against Diego when Five was in the restrooms, “thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” Diego had smiled back, keeping a poker face. Klaus lights up his every nerve and Diego’s never not affected by his long, elegant fingers or the way he bats his eyelashes prettily but pleasure was the last thing on his mind as they enjoyed the last part of their evening out. He _couldn’t_ ruin this perfect moment. Despite what he knew, what he had to face, he could at least give Klaus and Five this untainted, beautiful memory, and that made the lonely burden worth the ache in his chest.

He hadn’t missed the way Klaus winced when Five started listing all the desserts he planned to order because the place wasn’t exactly cheap; they get by but they aren’t flush. 

“I’ll settle the bill,” Five had scoffed, as if it was obvious a thirteen year old would pay, still managing to prickle Diego even despite the secret still weighing him down.

“What with, you gonna give the waitress free math tuition?” Diego couldn’t help but snark, much to Five’s amusement, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

“No, Diego. I was heavily compensated for my parent’s death. Susie thinks she’s locked my account but I acted swiftly,” he grinned, pulling a sleek black card out from his inside pocket, “see? I broke into her office once the case was settled. Made my own account.”

Diego and Klaus were stunned into silence before Klaus began to guffaw, clapping wildly.

“I’m so surprised I didn’t give birth to you,” Klaus had snickered. Diego would have felt more affronted, offended, as if he can’t pay for his own family to go out to eat, but he didn’t have the energy to fight Five on it. The boy ordered all sorts of stuff Diego had never had before; Paris-brest with hazelnut cream, truffle Brie de Meaux. He wanted to enjoy it; Five listing off facts about the food, Klaus’s almost wanton licking of it off his fingers, but the memory of the phone call held him prisoner.

They settled, Diego tense as he let Five pay, before the drive home bringing them to the present moment, Klaus clambering out of his pretty kimono and rummaging around for a face wipe as Diego slowly unbuttons his shirt, perched upon their bed.

“Hey,” Klaus drawls, slow and sexy, walking over to him as they slip into their natural fit of Klaus in Diego’s lap, Diego holding his hips meaning Diego has to look up. He nuzzles Klaus’s jaw, his cheek, feeling safe in the embrace of the smaller man, Klaus’s bird arms wrapped around his neck.

“You ok, baby? You seem a little stressed,” Klaus whispers, rocking upwards meaningfully, “I can take care of you.”   


Diego swallows. He feels sick, not just from all the rich food, but from knowing he’s about to see Klaus in pain. He knows, logically, he can’t make it so that Klaus never feels sadness, anger or hurt - but he’d move earths if it meant he could. Klaus, so bright and tender, leans back, hands still clasped around Diego’s neck.

“Is this about Five paying for us?” he asks, giggly, “aw, baby, it was kind of cute. You know you’re still the  _ man _ of the house.”

He pushes his tight, perfect little ass down on Diego’s crotch on ‘ _ man _ ’, and Diego’s only human, his body responding, but it’s not right and with conflicting feelings he moves to stand, easily picking Klaus up and plopping him back down on the bed.

“Diego,” Klaus frowns, the atmosphere shifting, “what is it?”

“The phone call I took earlier,” he says, eyes on the ground, “it was Susie.”

“The social worker? Ok?” Klaus asks nervously.

Diego’s heart feels like it could beat out of his chest. He walks back over to Klaus, taking his face in his hands, thumbs stroking those beautiful cheekbones.

“Tell me,” Klaus demands, getting agitated.

“They- they’ve found a-a-adoptive parents. F-for Five,” Diego stutters, taken aback by it. An old childhood ailment that he thankfully grew out of, mostly, but right now his words feel clumpy and glued together.

“ _We’re_ his adoptive parents.”

“No, we’re not, Klaus. We’re his foster parents. They’ve found adoptive parents. He - He has to leave. On M-Monday.”

Klaus shakes his head, barely moving.

“No,” he whispers, “he isn’t.”

“Klaus,  _ please _ ,” Diego continues, not liking the visual of Klaus fall into a old habit of denial, “it’s the law. I’m a cop. I could lose my job if I essentially kidnap a kid. I could go to prison.”

Klaus bats him off angrily and Diego lets him, standing back as Klaus rises up from the bed before storming out. Diego hears him stomp down the stairs, probably to smoke. Diego waits, thinks about how he’d handle this at work. He’s talked people down from violence, from rash decisions, he’s had to break the worst of news to heartbroken mothers and wives, but none of that seems to inspire him when it comes to dealing with his personal life.

And Klaus might be sensitive with a kittenish need to be loved, petted and cared for very evident, but like all cats, he’s brutal when he attacks. 

Diego gives it a moment until he knows Klaus has smoked at least one cigarette before following him downstairs. Klaus is sat on their breakfast table, an ashtray between his crossed legs, smoke billowing in front of him as he lights another cigarette.

“I don’t want Five to leave,” Diego says gently but firmly, holding a hand out. He knows Klaus feels safer when he’s being touched or held, but he’s still careful, gently touching a bare thigh, Klaus dressed in his night robe and not much else. His stomach flips sickeningly as Klaus wells up, those beautiful eyes of his wet and full, before he pulls on the cigarette again.

“He can’t, Diego,” Klaus says harshly, “he isn’t leaving.”

Diego’s learnt to control his demons, too, but they bubble to the surface of his skin and shout internally at Klaus:  _ are you dumb? You aren’t above the law, you stupid, empty-headed child _ .

He hates them, hates their cruel words, and he thanks God he can swallow those voices down because he doesn’t mean it. It doesn’t reflect his love for the man he’s currently encircling, trying to comfort.

“It’s just that - she said Monday, babe, it’s Tuesday - ” 

“I fucking know what day it is!” Klaus all but yells, sliding off the table, the ashtray smacking into the floor, cracking open. Diego is fizzing with anger, torn by trying to placate himself and satisfy that primal urge to match Klaus’s rage. Klaus paces instead, throwing his half smoked cigarette in the sink before firing up another, his back to Diego.

“You need to calm down,” Diego warns, knowing he’s on thin ice here, but Klaus is living in a fairy tale, “we knew what we were signing up for.”

“ _Did_ we?” Klaus asks, making Diego soften as he hears that devastation in his baby’s voice, “because I didn’t think we’d get a kid like _him_. I can’t let him go.”

“I can’t  _ defy  _ social services, sweetheart,” Diego says, exasperated now, “I don’t know what you want me to  _ do _ \- ”

A body hurtles through into the kitchen, door slamming open, Five looking every inch a displeased, angry parent as he takes in Klaus’s tearful chain smoking, narrowing his eyes at Diego.

“What the hell is going on?” Five demands to know, hard to take seriously in his weird ass silk pajama set, “what are you saying to upset him?”

Diego has to laugh, enraged at the arrogance, to be quite honest. Five may be unusual, mature in some ways and not in others, but he is no position to interrupt their relationship as far as Diego’s concerned.

“Go to bed, kid,” Diego says slowly, still keeping a tight handle on his emotions, staring down Five. Yet, Five is Klaus’s weak spot, Diego biting the inside of his cheek as he watches Five stalk over to Klaus, placing himself in the man’s eye-line.

“What’s wrong, Klaus?”

Klaus sniffs, taps some ash onto a nearby plate.

“It’s ok, Fivey,” he laughs, a bit too high, “don’t you worry about us. Off you pop to bed.”

“No,” Five insists, of course, face hardened. He commands the attention of the room despite being half the size of both the adults, hands on skinny hips, but Diego’s seen the look in his eyes before, usually in the eyes of his  _ abuela _ . It’s a fierce, deep need to protect, regardless of whether you upset the person you’re protecting. Diego’s practiced that type of love his whole life.

It’s just, Five looks at  _ him _ accusingly, and Diego has a good mind to backhand him for it. 

“Ok, well,” Klaus laughs, tears spilling freely now, “it seems Daddy Diego had a little chat with Susie. You’re leaving!”

He sing-songs it, daft and broken, Diego unable to simply stand by and allow Klaus to drift in this well of sadness alone. It doesn’t feel  _ fair _ , the immature part of him complains. It’s hurting him too. Five’s stance loosens slightly and it’s slightly creepy to see how he can look so old and wizened then so innocent and lost in the space of seconds, looking up at Diego.

“I see,” he nods, “I didn’t think you disliked me, Diego,” he adds oddly.

“I _ don’t _ , dude,” Diego shakes his head, confused at how this conversation is going until he - oh - Five thinks he  _ arranged _ this - “hey, no, this wasn’t me! She called. I told her we want you here.”

Five assesses him. It’s dumb how scrutinized Diego feels by those dark, young eyes.

“It can’t be helped,” Five shrugs, robotic as he intakes the new information, “I assumed I’d be moved along at some point.”   


Diego’s so transfixed by Five’s stoic demeanor he forgot Klaus’ shaky one until they hear a choked back sob, the flick of a cigarette lighter.

“Give that here,” Five tuts, hand out, Diego slightly amazed by how Klaus surrenders the newly lit cigarette only for Five to crush it in the sink upon discovering the ashtray in splintered pieces across the floor. He places a small yet encouraging hand on Klaus’ back, guiding him out of the door, a throwback glance to Diego that silently tells him  _ it’s ok, I’ve got this _ . 

It feels right to let them retreat, even if it breaks his heart not to follow. He swallows the lump in his throat and searches for a small bottle of vinegar he keeps at the back of one of their cupboards, unscrewing the cap silently. Klaus once called vinegar ‘Lucifer’s pre-cum’, so Diego is confident knowing his lover won’t be sprinkling it over any food. What Klaus doesn’t know is this is a scrubbed clean vinegar bottle full of  _ Ros Los Valientes.  _ The swig of rum hits him like a sugar rush, warming his skin, dampening his mind. 

He finds his laptop, loads it up, and begins to research.

 

**

  
  



	6. Back Into Wonderland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus begins to block out reality until he remembers he can't do this alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised I hadn't updated since Tuesday and I haven't made much progress on finishing this story. Entirely my own fault, I know if I'm going to write something chaptered I should write the whole thing before I begin to post as otherwise in typical me style I hit a block and struggle to continue. So, although I don't really like doing this, as I like each chapter to be a 'proper' chapter rather than just a scene, I'm uploading more of a "double scene" update. It focuses on Klaus feeling desolate but Diego bringing them back together.
> 
> I think the next chapter will be the last so I will do my best to make it meaty, as I know the scenes I want to write, I'm just burning out a little getting there (thanks, ADHD and Gemini, Pisces energy that makes me unable to finish a single thing!) However, YOU... you beautiful people... your encouragement has been so rewarding. I honestly appreciate it so much. Thank you.
> 
> **
> 
> Please heed tags for explicit sexual content.

 

 

**

 

The truth about recovery is that you never leave recovery. You will always think about the high or the hit but these memories become faint and fewer with time and effort. Klaus fell asleep with his demons, the ones that itch for a toke or a line, as Five tucked him in, as solemn as a nun. It’s hard to face reality when you’re weighed down with sabotaging forces, liars and cheats that enjoy your pain.

Klaus dreams of his descent back into Wonderland.

He’s woken by the absence of Diego, his partner, his boyfriend, his lover - hand reaching for him just to find Five, lying perfectly still above the covers, arms folded even in sleep. Klaus blinks, yesterday’s events creeping back to the surface. It’s dark but the day is beginning, confirmed as their door begins to open gently, a red-eyed Diego tiptoeing in.

“Hey,” he whispers, eyes raking over Klaus and Five, propped up on his side of the bed.

Klaus reaches out, feeling safe when Diego sits next to him, bringing him into his embrace, a kiss on his temple.

“I’m sorry,” Klaus whispers, scared, “it’s not your fault.”

Diego pulls back, taking Klaus’ face in his hands. Klaus can see he hasn’t slept and guilt curls in his stomach.

“I’ll do whatever I can,” Diego swears, sealing it with a kiss that Klaus finds himself sinking into. As they break and Diego quietly finds himself some clothes for the day, Klaus looks over at Five fondly.

“Can you believe he sleeps like this?” he scoffs, still whispering. Diego pauses to look back at the kid.

“I completely believe he sleeps like that,” he shrugs, Five perfectly still, legs straight, arms crossed, still annoyed even when he’s unconscious.

Klaus feels the pain constrict in his chest, losing sight of the boy as those dastardly tears rear their ugly heads. He’s comforted by Diego’s strong hands in his hair, kissing the wetness away, looking up at his love.

“Hey, you have that exhibition coming up,” Diego remembers, “you should focus on that a little. Let me take care of this.”

“You’re right, though,” Klaus admits unhappily, “we can’t change it. There’s no time, even if we could.”

Diego nudges his face again, Klaus’s soft skin always a delight to touch, to feel next to his, before disappearing. It leaves Klaus wanting, needing something to take him out of his mind, the reason he found art in the first place. Watching colours bleed together, an idea come to life, has on the most part been incredibly satisfying, a healthy way to divert his attentions.

It doesn’t help, as the day sets into motion, that all he can hear is the movement of Five upstairs. Klaus feels directly linked to the click of his fingers on his laptop, the patter of his footsteps as he goes from bathroom to bedroom, the quiet trinkle of Mozart playing in the background as he studies audible in the kitchen. Klaus has always been dismissed as a fantasist, an air-head, which he used to his advantage in the past. No one’s going to suspect dumb, pretty little Klaus of figuring out how to unpick a lock, steal from a safe, he soon found out, but it’s not smoke and mirrors he can hide behind with Diego. Diego quite literally spanked it out of him, Klaus remembers fondly, all the daft white lies that riled his man up to the point he’d drag Klaus over his lap.

 _“You’re sharp,”_ Diego said once, _“don’t pretend to be dumb, not with me.”_

Klaus didn’t know what do with that at first. Men always wanted him to be dumb, egos ugly if Klaus outwitted them, especially as he was supposed to be the pretty twink on their arm, not sharp-tongued and clever. Diego’s may be a walking stereotype, a hot tempered cop with a thing for knives and leather yet it took Klaus months before he realised Diego’s ego doesn’t demand Klaus shrink himself.

That’s not to say Diego doesn’t enjoy Klaus playing helpless in between the sheets, but it’s been liberating, cracking open the closet, finding his voice.

Frustrated, Klaus jabs at the canvas. Green no longer feels lucky. There’s too many things he wants to do but no way to begin any of them.

He’s brought back to earth by Five tutting, his appearance as a sudden as a divine intervention.

“What?”

“Possibly add in some yellow, here,” Five gestures, “like the birthing of light.”

Klaus grimaces, throws the paint brush over his shoulder, itching to cling onto something else.

“You could join me for a run,” the kid shrugs, making Klaus scoff.

“Yeah, I think you’d regret that, tiny legs.”

“When’s the last time you exercised?” Five accuses.

“Since when you do run?” he retorts.

“I run 8.6k everyday at 2.30pm when you sit down to watch _The Bold and The Beautiful._ ”

Klaus is ashamed to admit he’s never noticed Five slip out of the house for that, yet he’s not particularly surprised. Five retrieves the carelessly tossed aside paintbrush, eyes narrow as he begins to make circular patterns on the edge Klaus has been working on for hours. Klaus isn’t fond of people looking at his work, ironic as that is considering his flamboyant approach to life, but Five’s not just anyone.

“There,” Five murmurs, happy with the subtle pattern, weaved into the bigger picture, completing it perfectly.

Klaus is happy with _their_ pattern, he thinks sadly.

**

Silence is a deafening ache between them, foreign to Klaus. No matter what, they push each other, Diego able to anchor Klaus back to reality and Klaus always successful in calming those fiercely hot emotions of Diego’s. This, though, is a canyon growing between them, days passing where they barely speak beyond the unconditional “ _good night, baby_ ,” always sealed with a kiss. Diego still kisses him good night but Klaus isn’t anchored to anything. He’s floating free, and it’s terrifying.

He can’t take another moment of it, itching for relief, for Diego’s hands and the way he frames it for Klaus to understand. He discovers Five glued to a late night TED talk session, noise cancelling headphones firmly on, when he knocks and peeks into the kid’s bedroom to see how he’s doing and that gives him the peace of mind knowing their charge is cosy, grumpy and safe.

He knows his mind isn’t playing tricks when Diego eyes him, wary, as Klaus gracefully struts into their bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

“Klaus - ”

“ - I don’t want to talk,” Klaus interrupts, surprised as Diego charges forward, grabbing his hips.

“No, no talking,” he agrees, eyes dark, roaming over Klaus’s small body. Klaus traces the handsome face with his hands, allowing Diego to lift him with ease onto his lap, their kiss heated and deep and Klaus doesn’t understand why he’s fighting the urge to sob. Diego breaks it, pushing him down until he’s pushing away the silky bottoms Klaus is dressed in, no underwear.

“I’ve got you,” Diego swears. Klaus believes him, finally giving in to that urge to cry, body tense before Diego begins to push him down before paying attention to the ass in his lap, milky skin exposed. Klaus waits, trying so desperately to be mindful, to be here. Diego’s hands, rough and cracked but knowing and powerful, grabbing gently at the flesh he finds.

Klaus grabs at the duvet beneath him, ready.

He’s sure that those warm, capable hands are about to reign hellfire on his backside, a kick that allows Diego to feel his anger trickle away and makes Klaus rock hard knowing he’s the tool for that, subservient and useful at last. He gasps as instead of a slap, Diego’s finger encircles Klaus’s rim, smoothing over the sensitive skin there before pressing in experimentally.  

“Dieg _o_ ,” Klaus gasps tearfully, voice breaking on that last syllable, mouthing at the duvet his head rests on. His hips jump a little higher, cock filling and hardening in his lover’s lap, as Diego continues his intent, finger crooking inside of Klaus. He uses his spare hand to dig into the flesh, the apple round ass, eliciting a whimper. Klaus closes his eyes, concentrates on what he can feel, hear - the click of some lube, another finger, extra pressure that opens him, _stretches_ him - the deep, insistent press as Diego starts to fingerfuck him.

He doesn’t realise he’s trying to move, to relieve his dick, until Diego easily grabs the hip furthest away from him.

“Stay still,” he warns, cop voice on, all the blood rushing from Klaus’s head, his heartbeat in his mouth and under his tongue as Diego stretches his fingers inside of him, moving a little faster. The steel grip Diego keeps on his body, pressing his own weight on top of Klaus, is a stark, physical force that knocks the wind out of Klaus’s sails. He can’t fight, doesn’t want to, the tears back and noisier than before, albeit muffled into the material below. He’s trying to breathe, panting, the _buh-bum_ of his heart like a drum threatening to deafen him when Diego curls deliciously, forcefully.

“ _Oh_ ,” Klaus weeps, desperate to move but unable to, the realisation that it’ll be like this, he’ll come like this, with Diego inside of his body, working him like a harp, touching that sweet spot, hitting it and _teasing_ it like he owns it -

Klaus shakes as he comes, a tiny roar swallowed up by the sheets, body on fire and barely registering Diego carefully removing his fingers. It’s the ear pop post-flight, everything blurry in sound, blocked out, body boneless as Diego turns him over and wipes away the mess he’s made before bringing Klaus close, skin to skin.

“You’re good,” Diego promises, kissing away tears, Klaus clinging onto his love like he’ll drown if he isn’t wrapped up in Diego, octopus-like, “it’s ok, sweetheart, you’re so _good_.”

Klaus lets him say it because he needs to hear it, needs to feel it. His breath still races and his heartbeat still pounds like an alarm but now he can feel and hear Diego’s heart too. Steady. Safe.

 

 


	7. The Apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five is scared of being vulnerable, and there's a new beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, here we are, final chapter! I really want to say thanks to those of you who have read this story and left kudos or comments. It’s probably the nicest welcome I’ve had into any fandom, ever. I’ve had some really interesting conversations with you in the comments sections about culture, race, language - things that you picked up on that I was just trying to subtly weave into my little story. The response to this has been so lovely and even though I’ve said how my motivation can be up and down, I’ve genuinely enjoyed writing it. I would love to hear your final thoughts <3

 

**

They say you should live everyday like it’s your last as if that’s a good thing. Five disagrees. Firstly, it’s impractical, and secondly, it’s depressing. Why would one want to live with the overriding thought of death? It seems nonsensical, the opposite of what the thought is attempting to portray: that living in the moment is the key to long lasting happiness.

Besides, when you’re aware that the apocalypse is coming, you’re not happy, or free. You’re just waiting. You live counting the seconds, watching time pass, waiting for the moment you burn.

Five manages to find some blue tac, hardened from time on a Hargreeves’ wall, to cover the digital time on his laptop. He’s sick of counting down the seconds.

“I _ know, _ ” he hisses at Dolores, her voice clear as day in his head as she whines, “ _ you’ve got two days left, Five. _ ”

She sits, unblinking, staring ahead.

“It’s ok for  _ you _ ,” Five whispers, because sure, the wires that keep him ticking over are surely crossed, but he is aware that talking to himself will get Klaus’s attention and not in a good way, “things won’t change for you, not now, not ever.”

_ “I can come with you. Klaus will insist.” _

Five shrugs at that.

Klaus was right, he’ll give him that. His nightmares still hit but he’s quiet about it. No more waking up to two thirty-something men pacing around his room, Diego silent but terrified, Klaus tearful and screechy.

Dolores; a maternal, silent watcher, the strangest reincarnation of his Mother.

It’s better, speaking with Dolores, than spinning off alone. He’s begun to pack, not that there’s much to take, stomach clenching in an unfamiliar way as he pictures his final steps out of Number 31.

“Strange,” he scoffs at her, “maybe I ate something out of date. Klaus has no concept of kitchen cleanliness.”

_ “I think it’s called love,” _ Dolores says. Five turns rotates her for that, eyes to the wall, her existence temporarily erased.

He’s disappointed that Klaus refuses to run with him or cook with him as the days pass by, uncertain of the future of the man’s health. Five’s adamant he can pass down some good habits, but Klaus is quiet and barely there which leads to an argument that brings back that unpleasant, unfamiliar stomach twist.

_ “These are the last few days - actually, hours! - we have left together, and you want to mope, feeling sorry for yourself!”  _

_ “Five,” Klaus had sighed, weary, bottom lip wobbling, “don’t.” _

_ “I’m the one being ferried around the city like a second hand car nobody wants,” he continued, not finished, “not you! So grow up, Klaus, and stop being such a selfish, pathetic baby.” _

Klaus bursts out crying and Five knows he’s lucky Diego is absent, working a Saturday shift. He stomps upstairs, slamming his door to ensure Klaus knows he’s furious but no sooner than he throws himself onto the bed does Dolores start.

_ “You should know better,” _ she tuts.

“I know,” he replies, leaning to rotate her, eyes facing forward again, the clench in his gut strong and unforgiving. There’s nothing he despises more than stepping down, frowning in the pillow below, attempting to sit with the feelings that won’t let him be. 

_ “You’re out of practice,”  _ she reminds him,  _ “it’s been a while.” _

She isn’t wrong. Five _ is  _ capable of putting pride aside. As long as he has time and space to think it through, he can do it. It’s been so many years. 

_ “There’s nothing wrong with being wrong sometimes, _ ” Dolores promises, or perhaps it’s someone else. Five closes his eyes tighter. The knock on his bedroom door startles him but there’s enough of a pause for him to conduct himself appropriately, sitting up, back straight, as Klaus shuffles in.

“You’re right, Five, and I’m sorry,” Klaus says, a pained expression across his features. He isn’t conflicted about an apology. Five’s heard Klaus apologise to a spider before. Apologies fall from his lips like nothing because Klaus is  _ always  _ apologetic, for taking up time, space, and for existing, half the time. 

Five never thought vulnerability could make a man strong or important.

He wishes he could mirror the sentiment but his own apology is lodged in his throat like a knife.

“I understand,” he says instead, slowly, as if he’s worried his tongue will betray him, “I - I don’t think you’re pathetic.”

It’s about as much as he can do, but the horrible twist of his stomach settles briefly, as if sated.

“I know,” Klaus smiles, “it’s ok. Come on. What do you want to do? Get vegan ice cream? Go visit Diego?”

Five ponders it, smirking.

“We can visit Diego?”

“Sure,” Klaus declares, “I mean, we shouldn’t… but we  _ could _ .”

That’s why they head down town, Five once again promising Klaus he knows how to drive and Klaus ushering him further along the sidewalk before he gives in. Five hates buses, the smell of old women and sweaty hipsters making him feel queasy, something he makes loudly known much to the side-eyeing annoyance of the other passengers.

“Do you  _ want  _ someone to punch me, Five?” Klaus hisses, smiling in apology to said old women and sweaty hipsters, “do you  _ want _ someone to harm my beautiful face?”

“Come on,” Five continues arrogantly, “you know I could take any of these weaklings.”

“ _ That’s - besides - the - point _ ,” Klaus warns, but his warning is more of a plea. Thankfully, after twelve minutes in hell, they can leap off the germy tin-can that transported them from the suburbs, Five locating a handkerchief from his blazer pocket and making a show of cleaning his hands.

“It was  _ not _ that bad,” Klaus shakes his head. Five catches a glimpse of his surrogate parent in the reflection of the shiny police headquarters building. He looks bright as ever in a long, over-sized green poncho-dress, black boots on, beady jewellery hanging down his chest as they confidently arrive at reception, Klaus waving dramatically at a blonde receptionist.

“Hi Klaus,” she grins, tapping away, “I’ll just call up. Oh my gosh, you must be little Five!”

“I’m the average height for a thirteen year old. I’m neither large nor small,” Five deadpans, watching her go from super smiley to slightly awkward.

“You should really let me take you shopping,” Klaus suggests, elbowing his shoulder, “get you in something snazzy.”

“I would rather drink vomit,” Five answers passionately, “than allow you to dress me.”

“Ok, you can pop up,” smiley receptionist declares, “let me just check you in and get you some passes.”

“Behave,” Klaus warns as they head for an elevator, “please, don’t get me banned from here, not again.”

“You got banned from a police station?” Five’s interest is peaked.

“Not  _ banned _ , I suppose,” Klaus admits, flushing slightly, “we just got… carried away, in Diego’s office…,”

“Eurgh, that’s enough information, thank you,” Five declares, disgusted, shaking that mental image out of his brain as hard as humanly possible. 

He’s intrigued to see Diego at work, showing their passes as they make their way through the corridor, the sleek glass walls and open plan room much nicer than Five pictured. For some reason, he assumed Diego worked in a dusty old station, not this state of the art, modern policing centre. 

“Hey, you two,” Diego appears, pulling Klaus in for a kiss, “what’re you doing down here, huh?”

“Well,” Klaus begins, leaning on him, “little Fivey wanted to see you.”

“Right,” Diego grins, “I’m sure.”

Five is stood assessing the room, hands in his pockets. 

“Not bad,” he praises, Diego still smirking, thanking him sarcastically.

“Hey, I got my shifts swapped, so tomorrow and Monday, I’ll be all yours,” he tells Klaus, with a glance at Five, “I’ll be around, ok?”

The mood dips,  _ Monday  _ echoing around the room. Monday is the apocalypse. Five checks the time. 14.19.

“Great,” Klaus lies happily, everyone happy for the distraction when a woman strides through the revolving door, two coffee cups in hand.

“Hargreeves,” she greets Diego, handing over the drink, “hey, Klaus, it’s been ages!”

Five doesn’t change stance, looking her up and down as she mirrors him, amused.

“And you must be Five,” she addresses him, “Diego’s told me about you.”

“He hasn’t told me about you,” Five replies rudely, looking out a nearby window. He isn’t interested in being polite, not when time is running out, and perhaps he should make more of an effort - be remembered a little more gently - but he doesn’t  _ have _ to make the effort, not as he notices Klaus mouthing something in his peripheral vision.

He doesn’t expect his eyeline to be interrupted by the woman, forcing him to blink in confusion.

“He said you were a little shit,” she says bluntly, “I can see why.”

He frowns, looking over at the two men he expects to jump to his defence. Klaus is desperate to, he can see it in the way he’s biting his thumb, trying to keep the words in his mouth, but Diego is visibly enjoying the tension.

Truth is, Five doesn’t know why he’s being an asshole, and that makes it harder to back down. 

“It’s ok, though,” the woman grins, “teenage boys, all those hormones, right?”

She winks at him before strutting away, leaving Five flabbergasted and slightly red in the face.

“Eudora,” Diego explains, “my partner.”

Diego and Klaus share a private look which Five doesn’t know how to interpret, a half-smile each, before Diego sends them on their way citing his ridiculous pile of paperwork. Five’s mortified as they return to reception and Klaus fixes him with a dumb grin, locating his cigarettes and lighting up the second they get out into the open.

“Eudora’s cute, right?”

“What?” Five asks, aghast.

“Aww, come on, you went so red, Five, it was adorable,” he snickers, “bit old for you, though.”

“That’s  _ preposterous _ ,” Five all but yells, “you’re so - annoying!”

Klaus seems in better spirits as they wander aimlessly, providing evidence to Five’s theory about living each day as if it’s your last. The tick-tock of every goddamn clock in the house was just a roaring, hideous reminder of time escaping, the countdown on,  _ impossible _ to live in the moment joyfully. He dreads the bus journey home but Klaus wasn’t daft, he notes afterwards, asking Five pointed questions, the boy only realising he’d be purposefully distracted into lecturing Klaus about climate change once they arrive back home.

Home is a loaded word. It’s not home, just a waiting room, and it takes all of Five’s strength not to smash every clock he sees.

Diego keeps to his word, shifts swapped, Five not blind as he notices how he won’t leave Klaus alone for a second. Five couldn’t bear the type of love they share, suffocating to look at. Diego’s chirpy all morning, a look Five isn’t particularly used to but finds endearing, singing in Spanish and serving smashed avocado on toast. Klaus pushes it around with a fork miserably until Five gently knees him under the table.

“So, kid, what’s the plan for today?” Diego checks, shoving an impossible sized mouthful of bread into his mouth.

“If you say French food - ” he adds as a warning, mouth full.

Five glances at Klaus, the other man taking tiny bird bites of his breakfast, clearly itching for a smoke.

“I want - ” -  _ am I really doing this? _ \- “Klaus to take me clothes shopping.”

Diego belly laughs, stretching over the table to grab coffee.

“Really?!” Klaus perks up, “I have  _ so _ many ideas!”

“Yes,” Five grits out, “then we can go for Mexican food. That’s what I would choose.”

"Ok,” Diego shakes his head in disbelief, “we can do that.”

It had to be somewhere other than the house, Five was always aware of that, knowing that if he was forced into sitting on the couch, soul-searching, clocks ticking over, he’d say something he regrets. At least with Diego in tow they can drive rather than the indignity of public transport because unlike Klaus’s useless ass, Diego is a seasoned driver and a cop car driver at that. Nerves set in at the thought of what humiliating outfit he’ll be subjected to but as they hit the mall all of Klaus’s choices are Tan France style sensible.

Dare he admit it, Five quite likes the stonewash skinny jeans and pale yellow button up Klaus waves around.

“Just, anything,  _ anything _ to stop you from looking like a Republican,” he coos, throwing the clothes at Five to try on, “you always look like you’re about to tell me I need conversion therapy.”

“How about this?” Diego adds evilly, finding a glittery pink jacket.

“ _ One _ outfit, and I said  _ Klaus _ can pick it,” Five shoots back, disappearing to change. His daily set of a plain navy suit piece doesn’t need changing,  _ thank you _ , but the new threads will serve a purpose, so he buys them, Klaus besides himself with pride. He lets Klaus fuss, stands still and unsmiling for a photo, the clenching in his gut unfurling into something warm and satisfied, the hazy feeling of something like happiness settling when Diego drives them to  _ Casa Morita _ . Five steps back, lets them choose,  _ queso fundido _ , slow cooked lamb, chimichurri and cancha corn filling their table as the neon lights contrasted with the darkness of the restaurant make Five feel more comfortable, a half darkness shielding him.

There’s no clocks, no count down, prompting him to remember a key point about counting time -  _ a watched pot never boils _ . Time is slow, but if you take your eyes off it, the hours speed by until there’s nothing left. Proportional theory dictates mathematical consistency over the years but Klaus and Diego have only been a four month, 12 day constant. In a parallel world, it could have been forever.

As they drive home, bellies full, the chattering subsides and reality hovers on the sidelines. Five sneaks a look at the clock welcoming them back home. 8.40pm. Twelve hours left.

“Have you packed?” Diego asks, subtle as ever, Klaus jumping like a cat being splashed with water.

“Of course,” Five replies, pushing past him for the kitchen, “Susie will be late, as always, but yes, I am packed.”

“Ok, Five,” Diego begins, Five hearing the uneasiness in his voice, “you know, I tried to find a way I could argue this. You know you’ll always be welcome here, yeah?”

Five feels careless. Perhaps delivering a barbed taunt at them will quash the renewed ball of pain that seems to swell in his stomach.

“This isn’t my home,” he tries, confused as to why saying it makes his voice break, stirring sugar into his coffee, “you’ll have a new kid in a week. It’s the way it is.”

“No,” Klaus speaks up, wobbly, leaning into Diego like a child, “we won’t.”

He knows Klaus is about to break free and reach for a hug so he darts through the gap between the two men before Klaus’s long, skinny arms can catch him, not looking back. Diego only  _ just  _ realises that he’s taking a coffee to bed, starting to mutter his disagreement, but by the time Five shuts the door and finds his headphones he knows Klaus will have soothed and kissed away any idea of the coffee being stolen from him.

He won’t sleep, coffee or not. 

Instead he gently places Dolores on the other pillow, the side of the bed where she would lay if she were real. His body is tired but his brain isn’t and if sleep were to claim him, it wouldn’t be pretty. Not even Dolores could stop the screaming. 

_ Have you decided? Shall I come with you tomorrow? _

“Maybe,” he murmurs, “but, then again, maybe not. They might not take kindly to a teenage boy with a - no offence - doll.”

_ Since when did you care about what people think? _

“I don’t,” he glares, “but this is different. They’re  _ adopting _ me.”

Dolores is quiet, annoyingly so, after that, so he finds a book he’s read a thousand times, and he waits.

**

 

Time comes to a standstill, Five could swear it. His sleep-deprived brain briefly wonders if he’s managed to pause time considering the way Diego’s been hunched over the toast for what feels like hours and how Klaus resembles a lifeless statue in their little, flowery garden, cigarette dangling in between two fingers.

Five creeps up to the man who’s supposed to be making his breakfast, finger pressing into his shoulder experimentally.

“Uh, what?” Diego jumps. Five’s marginally disappointed that it turns out he doesn’t have superpowers.

“You’ve been lathering my food in jam for almost 20 minutes,” he accuses, until he follows Diego’s anxious eyeline, looking through their kitchen windows.

Klaus is a chain smoker, much to their united chagrin, but he’s barely bringing the cigarette to his mouth, just holding it as he stares out at houses for as far as the eye can see. It’s a pretty view, Five supposes, the quiet estate and the soft rolling hilltops on the horizon, a place of happiness for dog walkers and runners alike.

“I’m worried,” Diego says. Five isn’t sure if he’s supposed to hear it.

“Have you thrown out your rum?”

Diego’s face drops in horror.

“How did you - ”

“I could smell alcohol on your toothbrush,” Five admits, looking up with what he is confident is a disappointed glare, “you shouldn’t keep alcohol in a house with a recovered addict, Diego.”

“ _ Dios mío, _ ” Diego groans, shoving the food in Five’s direction, “I know, Five, cut me a break. My  _ abuela _ … it makes me feel like she’s with me, y’know?”

Five shoves the toast in his mouth, cutting off any words that might escape. He doesn’t know if they’ll be comforting, so it seems his best option.

They watch as Klaus taps ash on the daffodils that are pushing through.

 

**

 

Eery silence fills the room as Five stares over at the two men, Klaus fiddling with the holes in his pants, Diego as dumb as a goldfish, mouth opening and closing, words too complicated. Five’s aware that he isn’t helping matters, legs akimbo and hands clasped together tightly, leaning over and fixing them with the same look Diego reserves for thieves and fraudsters.

The doorbell buzzing violently is a strange relief.

“Ok, ok,” Diego mutters, standing, looking to Five for support. Five isn’t offering it, because Diego doesn’t deserve it. Maybe if he had prepared a little more, fought a little harder, then this wouldn’t be what it is.

Realising he’s being left to drown, Diego leaves them unwillingly to greet Susie. Klaus folds up once Diego leaves, quite literally - limbs being tucked into his chest tightly, arms wrapped around himself protectively, like a little hedgehog, warding off evil ineffectively. 

“Are you going to bother seeing me out?”

Five hates the worst part of him, domineering every conversation that he doesn’t like, out for blood. 

Klaus nods obediently, pale and sickly, scratching at his neck like his skin is uncomfortable.

“Of course,” he mutters. Five doesn’t wait to help him up, joining the corridor where Susie and Diego stand, awkward and unsure of each other. He grabs his bag, tunes out the inane chit-chat, the lilt of Susie’s voice as she offers empty reassurances Five has heard more times than he cares to recall.

_ Monday morning, time to hit the reset button. _

“Great,” Susie smiles, leaning forward to place a hand on Five’s shoulder before thinking better of it, “well, off we go.”

Five tightens his grip on his bag, the sense of  _ no _ hitting him like a freight train.

“Five,” she encourages, a fake, nervous laugh which goes right through him. He’s rooted to the spot, heels firmly dug into the ground below. Stubbornness has always come naturally, a stubborn belief in  _ himself _ , but he’s smarter than to let it become a fault. There’s no logical basis for things always staying the same, everything changes; only death brings about a timeless, changeless state. 

“I don’t want to go,” he says, surprised and embarrassed by how little he sounds, like a child. 

He’s just a  _ child _ , nomadic, unwanted, abrasive -- until here.

It gets worse, Klaus unable to prevent himself from stepping forward and thank God they can’t see each other as he scoops him into his chest, arms tight around Five. Klaus smells like cigarettes and soil, somehow dirty from his garden escapes, and Five feels something at the back of his throat, desperate for it to stay there and not spill out into the world, because he hasn’t cried for years, not even in his dreams.

Klaus is so tightly wrapped around him he can’t hear much but he knows it’s not good, knows Susie will drop the sweet, warm middle-aged woman act before long, until there’s a flurry of activity and Diego’s voice - 

“ -  _ now _ , Patch, can’t you fucking _ see _ this is bad timing? - ”

“Exactly,” a new female voice says sternly, Five pulled aside by Klaus as he recognises the slim shape of Diego’s colleague shuffle into their home.

“Mrs. Patch - ”

“ _ Miss _ ,” Patch corrects, Five managing to find his way through the many layers of Klaus’s ridiculous kimono to see her face, slightly pink with a sheen of sweat gathering at her temple, an enormous binder cradled in her arms.

“So, it turns out,” she grins, out of breath, thumbing through pages, “under R307, Article 56 - if a foster parent in a protected profession requests an emergency extension it can be - ”

“ - that can only be actioned with Commissioner permission,” Susie flusters, irate. Five can’t see her but he smirks against Klaus’s arm, knowing she’ll be slowly coming to boil.

“Not a problem,” Patch declares, still wheezing as if she’s ran a marathon, whipping out a piece of paper and shoving into Susie’s hand, “The Commissioner has happily given his permission for the state to grant it.”

Five’s heart is in his throat, watching from behind the shadows.

“ - this doesn’t - ”

“ - please don’t make me pull rank, Susie,” Patch warns, decisive, “we all know they’re cleared and we can get the adoption papers sorted, and as you well know, these are sufficient in the interim.”

Five suddenly feels daft and young clinging to Klaus like he’s his Mother but he can’t bear the scream that’s bubbling inside of him so he has to  _ wait _ . There’s something relaxing about being slightly cut off, his sense of sight temporarily gone, his other senses heightened. 

“Well, I mean - Mr. Hargreeves, you’ll have to - you know, the other family - ”

“ - that’s  _ your _ job, you deal with them,” Patch decides firmly and there’s exasperated mutterings, bodies moving around them until he hears the sure click-clack of Susie’s heels as she returns to her car, the shutting of the door.

“Holy shit,” Diego is saying, laughter from Patch. That’s when Klaus lets him go, bouncing on his heels.

“ _ Eudora, _ ” Klaus flails, hands on his face, “I could french kiss you.”

“ _ No _ ,” both Diego and Patch warn in unison before focusing their attention on Five. He straightens himself out a little, patting down his blazer, knowing they’re expecting something from him - a reaction, a speech - and he intends on making them wait. It’s a power move, keeping someone’s attention, and Five’s fond of those.

“ _ Helloooo _ , Fivey? Now’s the time to cry, to  _ dance _ !” Klaus sing-songs ridiculously, trying to spin Five but failing, “you can call me Mommy!”

“Shut up, Klaus,” Diego smiles, “I can’t thank you enough, Patch.”

She shrugs, looking at Five fondly.

“I was in care,” she tells him, “I know how special it is when you find somewhere that loves you. And you them.”

Five maintains eye contact but is sure to keep his expression neutral.

“Something like that,” Diego jokes, before leading her into the kitchen for coffee, switching to Spanish. Five feels a flush of something warm and joyful at the way Klaus looks at them before he notices Five’s eyes on him, dangling an arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“Are they talking about me?” he asks, ever the drama queen, Five tutting at his ego.

“They’re talking about  _ me _ ,” he corrects, flouncing forward, committing the smile that adorns Klaus’s face to memory, so he’ll never forget it.

 

**

 

_ 2 months later _

 

Klaus looks great. Five would never pick out such an outfit but he can see how it works for Klaus, tall and lithe and surprisingly strong. The silk robe skims his ankles, tied in at his narrow waist, with lacy sleeves. It’s mint green, paired with gold flats, several gold necklaces. There’s no mistaking him in a sea of students wearing black. As Five makes his way back to them after seeking out lemonade, he can see the anxiety creeping in, Klaus bringing his hand to his face to bite his nail.

“Baby,” Diego soothes, running a hand down his back, “you can do this.”

Klaus grimaces.

They spent a good hour walking around the hall, admiring everyone’s pieces and even Five can admit the quality of the art is decent. It’s just that Klaus’s painting, captivating and shocking, is at the front and it’s painter is expected to climb up on stage and accept his award for this year’s Arts and Humanities celebration.

“I can’t,” Klaus fiddles with a nail, a necklace, groaning almost comically, “I  _ can’t _ .”

“Yes, you can,” Five rolls his eyes, “just say something about the painting, say thank you, and that’s it.”

Klaus lets out a shaky breath, right hand linking in with Diego’s as the course leader steps up to the microphone and greets students and their guests. Five isn’t one for empty praise, or praise at all (too much indulgence leads to laziness, in his opinion) but Klaus is deserving of it tonight. Always the joker, flamboyant, silly, and here he is, with finished artworks, accomplishments, work he put in whilst balancing the tiring and dull paperwork and meetings of confirming Five’s adoption.

“You deserve this,” Diego tells him, hand on the small of his back, “we’re so proud of you.”

“Klaus!”

As they focus on each other, the smiley woman on stage has been calling for Klaus to join her, to speak about his final piece. Five steps closer to Diego as they watch him go, lifting his robe as he climbs the steps, hands clasped together tightly. Five narrows his eyes, watching as Klaus edges towards the microphone, encouraged by his mentor.

“I, uh…,” he trails off, hands flapping awkwardly, “so…,”

“This is too much for him,” Diego worries out loud, “it’s overwhelming - ”

Five cuts him off by darting away, light on his feet, sprinting onto the stage and pushing Klaus away gently.

“As you can see, the artist chose to use three colours,” he begins, hands behind his back and standing tall, not bothering to grace the crowd for an explanation of Klaus stepping out of the limelight and a kid taking his place instead, “yellow, green and blue.”

He gestures to the painting, pleased as he notes all eyes move to where he’s pointing. 

“However, we shouldn’t view the painting as left to right,” he tells them confidently, “it’s right to left. First, we begin with blue. Blue is solid, dependable, honest and it’s paired with green. Green is intriguing, fresh and bright. But, we end with yellow. Yellow is new, unavoidable… not to everyone’s taste.”

He pauses. No one except Diego is looking at him. That throws him off kilter for a beat, until he joins the rest of the room to gaze at the artwork, admire the beautiful waves in Klaus’s painting, the colours effortlessly bleeding into one another, yet their stark differences highlighted, harmonising and beautiful.

“You could mistakenly think this is a simple painting, just three colours,” he continues, “but a lot goes into making it work. Klaus did that.”

He looks over his shoulder, to where Klaus is watching him with a smile, holding himself tightly. Five raises his eyebrows until he eventually gets the hint, joining him in front of the crowd.

“Uh, yeah, that’s it,” Klaus confirms, leaning down into the microphone, “so, uh, thank you?”

There’s resounding applause, Five’s turn to stand in the shadows as Klaus is photographed, awards are passed out, until they return to the floor.

“Thank you,” Klaus whispers, a hand in Five’s hair, which usually he’d make a fuss about but he lets it go. He darts again, easily able to slip past bodies until he’s stood before the glorious canvas, proudly displayed as the exceptional piece from the year’s cohort. He checks back, sees Klaus and Diego distracted in an embrace before returning to admire the work. Tiptoeing up, Five runs his fingers across the accompanying written work, the bold title.

 

_ Omne Trium Perfectum _

_ ‘Every set of three is complete’. _   
  


**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ........ i know, i know. i'm a sucker for some feelgood warmth, what can i say?!


	8. COMMENTARY CHAPTER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Headcanons, ideas, and anything you want to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies, gents, and everyone inbetween - hi!
> 
> So I'm SUPPOSED to be writing my fairytale AU (yeah, that's happening, I guess) but I couldn't stop thinking about LMI and I'm still pretty blown away by the response to it so I thought I'd set up a commentary chapter where I'll go through some of my ideas about it and you can comment and ask me any questions about the family, or the story, and I'll write little drabbles/reply accordingly.
> 
> All the love <3

 

**Five's biological parents**

So in the fic, Five's parents died in a terrorist attack organised by far right extremist terrorist/s. In my head, his bio parents were running a think-tank and driving forward progressive politics which as we know, far right groups are violently opposed to. I thought Five having parents who were passionate, smart and thinking outside of the box, working to 'save' the world, was super important in terms of his own ideologies. I wanted their death to be violent because I wanted Five to have extreme trauma (that sounds so messed up now I've typed it, lol...)

**Klaus being an artist**

So with this, I didn't envision Klaus being particularly amazing at art? But it's his way of expressing himself and along the way finding himself, making sense of the world around him. When he wins the award at the end of the fic, obviously I used the painting as a metaphor for their family.

**Diego's identity and culture**

We had some super interesting comment convos about this, lol. So Diego has a feeling of jealousy and I guess injustice at how when Five chooses to go to a French restaurant and speaks French, we have the sense it's very fancy~, luxurious, etc and compared to Diego's Mexican-American identity and how his culture and language is denigrated by wider American society. I'm not American but I consider myself pretty well read and aware of the world around me, and I appreciate the feedback I got from those of you who are American, etc. I feel that Diego has a good sense of self, but there are a million micro aggressions that affect you everyday if you're a POC, LGBTQ, a woman, etc and this was a part of that. As someone who is obsessed with societal commentary and thinking of my own experiences, my family, my friends, I really wanted to touch on this. This is an AU, so while we don't know if the characters in the UA ever learnt about their cultures - German, Russian, etc - in my AUs, if a character has a certain cultural background I will always include it whether explicitly or implicitly.

**Diego and Five's relationship**

Ok, so I really didn't want anyone to take away from this that they didn't like each other. They absolutely do, and in LMI real time they're both lecturing Klaus about something, literally, that's what's happening now, both shaking their head fondly in unison. Diego cares about Five but he also struggles to express it. It's like he gave Klaus all of his vulnerability when it comes to be open with his emotions. And Five, well, that lil weirdo is the same, in a different way. He also struggles to be honest and open about his feelings. They are both headstrong people who like to be in control and be thought of as protectors, defenders. However, they've both experienced trauma, difficulty and pain and they need to let love in. There's almost a sense of them both being alphas fighting for the role of 'man of the house', lol. (I also obviously know that title is outdated and sexist, but a) I find gender roles SUPER fucking sexy and b) it's my story, ok?! LOL) So, yeah, they do 'love' each other - BUT THEY WILL NEVER SAY IT

**The fostering and adoption system - surely it wouldn't be that easy IRL?!**

No, you're right. I did use knowledge I have of the system in the U.K through experiences of working with fostered/adopted kids, plus one of my BFFs is a social worker so I picked her brains. I also made stuff up. I didn't want to get bogged down with logistics but I also wanted it to have a realistic feeling.

**Dolores**

Dolores was a tool Klaus used which can be commonly used in therapy to help children and young people, by using an object for support. She was also, I guess, a symbol of Five's Mother who in my head, he was close to before she died. Five is someone who doesn't like to get in his feels, so Dolores acted as an outlet for him.

**Klaus being sober - how did that happen?**

Well, sobriety is a tricky thing. As someone with experience of having someone close to me struggle with lifelong addiction, it isn't often tied up nice and neatly and forgotten about easily. Life doesn't make narrative sense, to quote Rachel Bloom. However, this is fanfic land and whilst I love an angsty, messy, unsolved ending as much as the next gal, I also love softness, happiness and joy, because let's face it, the world is currently on fire. So, yeah, in reality, I'm sure Klaus would have had relapses and struggles, and perhaps he did in the years pre-Five. I would have thought with Diego's connections to public services and social care he could have supported a still addicted/struggling Klaus, and I doubt they would have had much of a relationship until that happened, with Diego being a cop and the simple fact having a relationship with an addict is exhausting and painful.

**Does Five get a real name?**

Probably. I like Sebastian, but lord knows what Kliego would pick...

**Can Five *really* study at a virtual school?**

It's a whole new world, baby! They do exist. Five going to an actual school would be hilarious, and someone should write it.

**How does Five know how to fight?**

His biological parents would definitely have taught their kid to fight. Think of them as Reginald Hargreeves, but not abusive, lmao. They would have wanted Five to be the President in 50 years time, so they definitely enrolled him in martial arts/self defence classes, especially as they were targets for groups who ended up murdering them.

**Why did you write this story?**

I wrote it because I couldn't resist the idea of Kliego as parents to Five of all people. We all know the iconic line delivered by the Queen that is Kenny's Mom. (LOVE that woman, I'm her biggest stan btw). Klaus, in my opinion, is a character that has so much love to give. We could feel it dripping off the screen when we witnessed his turmoil over losing Dave. Diego does too. Together, they work so well; aesthetically, they're super fucking hot (pretty white twink and pretty-masc latino hottie? OKURR) and canonically, they care for one another. Five is an old man in a teenager's body; he's grumpy, bratty, rude, intelligent, arrogant and we see slithers of softness there on occasion. How is that not the most amazing recipe in the world for a family AU?! I also LOVE AUs, it's a time to run wild and throw out the rule book and IMO, that's what fanfic is all about. I wanna lose myself in a fantasy.

 

Again, thank y'alllll, you're the best. Some of your comments have made me O_________O in shock, lmao, because sure I love writing and I always have but I just write 'cause I can escape and laugh and feel. So, yeah, getting feedback from you about how much certain things have meant to you, or how much you like my style of writing, has been SUPER validating lol. Thank you so MUCH. I can't promise to answer questions immediately but if you do ask a question about something, I will respond, even if it's a day (or four) later.

LOVE YAAAAAAAA <33333

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [There's no need to rush, my pace (Just follow my lane. Take it easy)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20454800) by [BrookeJones_D](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrookeJones_D/pseuds/BrookeJones_D)




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